Sleepwalker
by M-Sama
Summary: Wonder where the millenium items and dueling cards came from? Egypt, of course. Blood, darkness, pain, lost loyalties and minipulation, strength. Pharaoh vs. the world of darkness. Reviews are very Good things.
1. The Sleeper

Sleepwalker

Author's note: I own nothing. Yu-Gi-Oh is property of Konami, a might fine company that would _never_ be petty enough to sue the likes of me because they're all so very nice. 

Chapter One: The Sleeper

_It had been a long time since I had seen one, but I have a feeling I would have remembered this one even if he had been an anonymous face a crowd of his kind. Not that there ever are crowds of sleepers, or sleepwalkers. No, in actuality they are rare, so it's always an event when I come across one during my wanderings. _

_            I walk quietly, as a rule. In the realm of shadows there are many things that dislike being disturbed, especially the sleepwalkers. Few things are more dangerous then a sleepwalker, walking through its strange pantomime of life with eyes wide open, seeing nothing. I pity them, much more then I pity the dreaming sleepers. _

_I remember him. He was standing, which alarmed me because I worried he might be a sleepwalker. But he stood stark still, so I approached, cautiously. _

_His build was slight. His amazing hair stood up and swept back, the blond bangs on the red-black making it look like he was crowned by lightning. Even in slumber he stood, head down, arms crossed. This was a spirit who never surrendered to anything, not even his own condition. _

_Who was he? How long had he been standing there, that crowned head lowered, the challenging eyes closed? All sleepers are waiting for something. The aura of this one told me he had been waiting a very long time, and would wait longer. _

_It is not my place to disturb sleepers. He will awaken, when the time comes. I left him alone. _

"Professor Champollion!"

The thirty-year-old didn't answer, his head bowed in contemplation of the texts that covered the wall before him, face fixed in the utmost concentration. 

"Monsieur Champollion!"

His head came up. "What is it?"

"Monsieur, we have found something!"

The Professor looked up reluctantly, then back at the wall. "I was translating these inscriptions, I hate to stop in the-"

"The wall will still be there sir. From what the guides tell us, we've stumbled on something big!"

Professor Champollion was convinced. He came running. 

"Professor!" 

The female assistant and the guide, standing sentinel, called out in greeting, but the wall behind them instantly captured Champollion's attention. He rushed up and ran his hands over the inscriptions, as if rubbing would make them divulge their secrets. 

"We believe sir," said the young assistant, "that this portion is a good deal-"

"-Older then the surrounding temple," finished the Professor, rubbing the wall. "Look at the way the walls are constructed. This must be a piece of an older temple. For some reason, instead of tearing this wall down and completely re-building the structure, they left it and built an entirely new temple around the remains, like a shrine…but why?" 

Why indeed. The fragment of a wall was small, but it was clear what it was. A map of the Lower Egypt valley, with an X marking a place…

I didn't see that crowned sleeper again for a long time. One does not walk the shadow plane like one would a field; because the plane is always shifting and you never really know which direction you are going. I have seen many sleepers, as I said before, but this one intrigued me. I decided to find out something about him, his life. That wish was what took me to Professor Champollion, one of the most famous Egyptologists ever. At the age of twenty, he had accomplished what had long been deemed impossible: using a copy of the Rosetta stone, he presented the world with a code for deciphering the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, making him an instant legend. A man of impossible energy, he was made curator of the Louve's Egypt exhibit, and when he was thirty-four years old he had earned up enough money to accomplish his lifelong dream of a real trip to Egypt, the land he had dreamed of since he was a boy. 

Among the places he visited was this old temple, the roof long since torn off, letting the sunlight play upon the ancient texts. And it was here that they discovered something that had not been noticed before…a portion of the wall a good deal older then the rest. There was an inscription in the corner that seemed to be some sort of compass, sporting a strange symbol. A symbol not unlike the Eye of Horus, although the Professor insisted it could not possibly be the same sign, for the Eye of Horus was always the left eye, which (according to Egyptian mythology) had been torn out in his battle with Seth the god of chaos and set to watch over the House of Osiris AKA the royal family. This symbol was missing all the distinguishing features that marked the Eye of Horus, as this eye was neither right nor left. The Professor was ecstatic, pulled out a large sheet of paper, and promptly made a rubbing of the map. They followed it, searching for the place whose record had been both preserved and lost for all that time…

"This is it!" 

"You're kidding…"

             The guide, the two assistants, and the professor all stood looking at nothing more then a bare, rocky hill.

            The blond assistant boy crossed his arms and scoffed. "Of course, the building would have fallen down ages ago. Hell, we don't even know what it is we are looking for."

            "Unless the Egyptians used some other compass points then we do, this should be the place," said the girl, examining the rubbing. "And the professor deciphered these hieroglyphs, which turned out to be directions."

            "You sure we followed them correctly?" asked the boy?

            "This hieroglyph, the one that looks like a boat with its sail full of the breeze? That means travel south, because the Nile flows north, and to travel this way you must use sails against the current." The girl turned to Champollion. "Right Professor?"

            "What? Oh, right, right." The Professor barely looked up from his examination of the rocky slope of the hill, as if he could really see something there. "That wall we found in the temple, I think it was Middle Kingdom…Spread out, there must be something here!"

            Reluctantly, the assistants fanned out, but before the professor could do likewise the nervous guide tapped him on the shoulder. He said that he should go back, there was something about this place that chilled him. He said he would go back and keep the porters from running away with their camels and equipment. The professor was annoyed but waved him away, saying the guide better not run away himself, he isn't going to be paid unless camp is safely set up by nightfall. 

            The professor and the kids ran around the hill all day, but no trace of evidence could they find that anyone had built so much as a hen house on this hill. 

            But their presence was noticed, and two people stood on a bluff, overlooking this valley and the one hill that rose up in the center of it, and the three suntanned creatures in khaki who swarmed all over the hill. A young man with a tattoo of hieroglyphs on his cheek, and a small person in a turban with hard black eyes and a key around his neck…

            Alexander Wheeler didn't know what he was doing here. Yes, Egypt was the most fascinating place on earth, and yes, he was fortunate to be assistant to someone like Champollion (someone who could have had the honor students of Oxford falling all over themselves to join him, and instead he only took two had been studying under him of their own free will at the museum) but really, there was nothing here. It was times like this when he wondered why he had ever left his family in America…Eeeeeyaaaa!!!

            He had just tripped on something and went sprawling on his face. 

            "Very graceful," drawled Sarah.

            Great. Rescuing what he could of his shattered dignity, he picked himself up, spat out several rocks, and began shaking the sand out of his hair when he heard Sarah breathe in sharply. "Ooooooh!"

            "What is it?" Alex turned around to see her crouching on the ground, staring at something. 

            "Professor!" she screamed. "PROFESSOR!!!!!"


	2. Night's Winds

Chapter 2: Night's Winds

The last great pharaoh of the Old Kingdom was the Sixth Dynasty king, Pepy Nakht. But although he instigated various enterprises-including the construction of his own ambitious tomb near Aswan-his reign (some ninety years, or most of the twenty-third century BC) marked the beginning of the breakdown of the central authority. By the end of the Old Kingdom-approximately 2200 BC-the balance of powers among the king, the clergy, and the functionary class had deteriorated, and the principal looser was the pharaoh…It was at this stage that that the provinces made themselves felt for the first time in Egyptian history…

With the weakening of the central power a tendency developed to make administrative posts hereditary. This encouraged independent aspirations, which were soon expressed in other forms then tombs with decorated walls. Some of the nomarchs even demonstrated political ability and eventually played a decisive role in the country's destiny. When this happened, the Old Kingdom came to an en and Egypt entered a period of disorder, known as the First Intermediate Period. (Claudio Barocas, Monuments of Civilization: Egypt, pg. 48)

            Professor Champollion materialized in a swirl of dust. "Sarah? What is the matter?"

            Sarah was still staring at the ground. "Professor! Look…"

            The professor saw what she was pointing at and immediately fell to his knees in the dust, peering at it. Confused, Alex moved closer, wondering what the fuss was about- and jumped in surprise.

            It was a stone, almost completely buried in the sand. But up out of that sand stared a single, unblinking eye. The same one they had seen on that wall with the map, a circle peering out through two thick arched lines like eyelashes. 

            The professor instantly pulled out his brush and began to sweep the sand clear. "Éstudiants" he said, "go back to the camels and get the excavation gear." He grinned at them. "We found something!"

            "No shit…" said Alex.

Sarah was still on her knees in the dust. "Alex can go, he can carry more then I can, and I want to help!"

            "Sarah, I want you both to go. There is much to be carried. Hurry!"

            The assistants ran off. 

            The Professor turned back to the stone. The eye still stared up at him from the depths of the sand. He turned his attention to brushing most of the sand off. 

            Ever since he was small, he had dreamed of this day. He had already put himself on the map by being the first to decode the hieroglyphs, and here he was, most likely on the verge of something truly different!

            This eye…he had never seen this particular hieroglyph before. Was this a relic of a lost time, a period in Egyptian history that yet to be revealed? For some strange reason, almost none of the tombs from the Middle Kingdom have survived to this day, and none of the temples. No, Champollion, it is foolish to get your hopes up…oh, but this was exciting!

            The eye turned out to be embossed on a tile about a foot square, and Champollion began to clear away the sand from the sides with his fingernails. It turned out to go deeper then he expected, a small pillar, and when his assistants came back they saw his digging in the sand like a dog with a cube of limestone pillar sticking out of the ground above him.

Up on the bluff, the young man who bore the hieroglyphs on his face scowled and looked at the man in the turban is if demanding an explanation. The dark-skinned did not acknowledge his companion's look, and stroked his large golden ankh in a thoughtful way. 

The three on the hill went to work around the pillar with their little shovels; the professor wouldn't let them use anything bigger for fear of damaging any surrounding artifacts. 

"Where are Wilhem and the porters?" asked the professor as he tunneled.

"Those nitwits," said Sarah, stopping a moment to shake sand out of her russet ponytail. "We told them we found something, they acted like they'd seen a ghost, spoke among themselves in Arabic and flat out refused to stick so much as a toe in this valley. Mumbled something about evil spirits."

"How dumb is that?" exclaimed Alex from his side. "I mean, there's nothing to be scared of around here. We've been here all day and we 'aint been jumped yet!"

"Oh Alex," exclaimed Sarah, "what happened to Mr. Proper?"

"I'm sick of acting like that! I'm gonna be me from now on!"

"Tre bien, Alex. Never let anyone make you become something you are not. Remember that," said the professor as he widened the hole he had made down the side of the thing. 

"Thanks, Professor!" Alex beamed. 

They were still working when the sun began to set. A little ways from the entrance to the valley, the porters and the guide were making dinner. The smell reached Alex's nose and made him drop his trowel and sniff. 

"Professor! It's chow time!"

Sarah's stomach rumbled.

Professor Champollion had to summon all the willpower he had to pry himself from the job. He could have gone on digging until it was too dark to see, and probably longer, but the kids could not, and if they didn't go now it would be too dark to find their way back to the camp. 

"Let's get back," he said. 

He spent a very uneasy night. He dreamt that a huge monster that closely resembled Ammit the Devourer of Souls came, uprooted the pillar and stomped the hill into dust, leaving nothing to study, no link to this piece of lost history. The monster roared and stomped it's feet, roared and stomped, and snarled, and roared…

The snarling turned out to be Alex snoring. Sarah was sitting up on her cot, looking bleary eyed and outraged. Together they dragged Alex out of the tent, where his snoring woke up the porters, who threatened them with very nasty deaths if they didn't get rid of him. The sleepy, grumpy professor threatened not to pay them and they swore some more and stood their ground. Finally Sarah and Champollion had no choice but to take their roaring charge back inside the tent, where they tried to sleep. When Alex started sleep talking about food, Sarah snapped. Ignoring the professor's half-hearted protests, she walked over to Alex's cot, seized the edge and dumped the boy onto the sandy floor. 

"Hey, what gives?" he complained.

"Just…shut…up," said Sarah as she went back to bed. He must have subliminally gotten the message, because he didn't snore any more that night. 

The night winds stirred up the sands…the porters retreated back into their own shelters as dust filled the air and danced with the winds. And the next morning, the professor and his two protégés were to stare in amazement at what the winds had unearthed…


	3. Sleepwalker

Chapter 3: Sleepwalker

_The origin of sleepers and sleepwalkers is the same: they were all people who messed around with magic in one form or another. Trapped there by sorcerers, losing track of their own lives and walking too far into the shadows until they lost the world entirely, troublesome spirits sealed into a harmless sleep, harmless people who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…Walkers like me, sent into the shadows by a wicked one just to strengthen his own ties to the darkness. Most Walkers end up as sleepers eventually. They weary of walking, lie down to rest and probably spend the rest of eternity dreaming of loved ones in the world they left behind. Others never lie down, just keep going until they start dreaming on their feet and believe they have finally walked home. I suppose it's unusual for a Walker to inhabit the spirit world as long as I have and still be awake, seeing. Then again, I always was eccentric, even in life. I guess my soul never had strong ties to the real world to begin with, and that sorcerer only hastened the inevitable. _

_But that is not the story I am trying to tell now. You don't care about me, you want to know about the Pharaoh; the crowned one who endured his captivity with a kind of fiery defiance I had never seen before in any sleeper.   _

_There is no time in the shadow realm, so it was impossible to know how long it had been since I had seen him. It felt like a long time, for what that is worth. Either way, I could scarcely believe it._

_I knew it had to be him; no other bears a crown like that on his brow. But my blood ran cold when I saw his state. Asleep he was still, but then why where his eyes open? Why did he walk, hands reaching before him to seize the passing shadows and shape them, only to have them vanish? _

_He was sleepwalking. I immediately backed up to give him space, for as I have said, few things are more dangerous then a sleepwalker, for a sleepwalker is not responsible for their actions. If they perceive anything, it is only a dream…_

_My head filled with a million questions. Why? What had induced him to move, even in the depths of sleep? What was he looking for?_

_Looking at those wide, searing, vacant eyes glaring their challenge at nothing, I had a premonition that it was something incredible…_

Alex, Sarah, and the Professor just stared. There didn't seem to be anything else to do. 

The winds had cleared away the rest of the sand from around the small pillar. All told, it stood about six feet high. The winds had also cleared the sand from the tile-like stones surrounding said pillar, and in the background: what looked like a sealed doorway, set into the hill itself. From it's dusty, worn stone center stared the eye symbol.

The three approached in silent wonderment. They had to slide down the dusty slope to reach the level where the door and pillar stood, which they did almost without taking their eyes off the door. The area to the side was flat, marking the way that the winds had come and gone. 

"Mon dieu…" said the professor.

"You said it," echoed Alex

There was a pause in which the wind swirled some of the sand at their feet, lifting it up and away.

"So…" said Sarah, "what do we do now?"

In response, Professor Champollion approached the pillar. It wasn't much taller then him. He put one hand on the top and could feel the raised eye. 

"It is difficult to say from what we can see here, but I do believe that there were once many of these." He mused. He looked at the door, staring at him from hillside. 

"This place must have been covered in those sands for thousands of years," exclaimed Sarah. 

"And the winds just come and blow it all away?" said Alex. 

"I'm no meteorologist," said the professor, "but I suppose we must have sufficiently weakened the sand's hold on the hill that the wind could finish the job."

None of them believed it. All of them were more then a little creeped out. Still, Professor Champollion had waited his whole life for this day, and he wasn't about to let this strange miracle go to waste. 

He slowly walked towards the door, the unblinking eye staring out at him from the door's façade. A single crack divided the door perfectly in half. The professor reached out to touch it…and pulled his hand back as if something had burned him.

He stared at the door with wide eyes. "I cannot believe this…"

Something strange happened to Sarah. She stepped forward. She heard her voice say, "Please let me try," and then she reached out to touch the very inside of the doughnut shape, and turned her hand like a key…

There was a deep rumbling. Sarah came to her senses and jumped back in fright. Alex caught her and the two clung to one another while the professor stared at the door with wide eyes. 

Slowly, slowly, the eye separated along the crack and rotated inwards, moving on some earthquake mechanism that had lain idle for millennia. Soon all three were left staring at the huge, yawning darkness before them.

Sarah realized that Alex was holding her in a death grip. She gave him the evil glare of doom. "Hands off!"

Alex was too busy staring at the opening and blithering to notice her complaint. She clenched her fist and would have popped him one if he hadn't come to his senses and released her with a hurried apology and hands in the air.

"Sarah…" said the Professor, totally missing this amusing little incident because of his inability to peel his eyes off the yawning mouth before him. "How did you know how to open the door?"

Sarah sobered immediately. "I…don't know. I just knew what to do, somehow…"

"Sarah," said Alex, also staring at the opening, "Am I crazy or does it sort of feel like we've been here before?"

Sarah was about to make an indignant reply when something in her gut told her he had a point. "It does feel sort of familiar…"

"My children…" said the Professor, staring at them with wide eyes. Alex with his lean fighter's build, blond widow's peak and warm brown eyes, Sarah with her russet-red hair pulled back in a ponytail, lean dancer's form and sea-green eyes…The way they both came to the museum every day, and although he could give no formal classes, reading every word of anything he gave them, hanging on his every lesson, not to mention being a beloved source of companionship and laughter…And now this…

It is said that those who truly excel in a scientific field are those with a kind of obsession with their work. This was true in Champollion's case, and his mind zipped over all sorts of crazy reasons why his assistant had known how to work this ancient mechanism. 

They were both staring at him by now.

Champollion pulled himself together. He gave them instructions to run back to camp and prepare some torches. Again, they were loath to leave him. He said don't worry, just hurry back, and they both took off.

In about ten minutes, they were back with three gas torches and a bunch of candles. These they distributed among themselves, gave each other one last encouraging look, and ventured into the beckoning darkness.

(End Chapter 3)


	4. The story on the wall

Chapter 4: The Story on the Wall

With the reunification of Egypt by the Eleventh Dynasty kings, a century of disorder ended and the Middle Kingdom is considered to have begun…And in general we know this period best through other sources of information then through it's architectural monuments. There are several reasons why, the first and foremost being that they were largely destroyed. Then, too, the kings of this epoch- in particular, those of the Twelfth dynasty, the most representative of the Middle Kingdom- pursued a different policy in their relations with the various forces in the country and, in so doing, did not inspire the construction of temples and other fine buildings…As for the temples, if those of the Old Kingdom were badly preserved, those of the Middle Kingdom are all but unknown…This is because the succeeding period, the New Kingdom, (in particular, the Eighteenth and Nineteenth dynasties) was one of intense building activity, and very often the older structures were profoundly changed, incorporated into new buildings, or even demolished. (Barocas pg. 49) In what historic-political situation did the Middle Kingdom pharaohs develop? The Eleventh Dynasty kings who founded the Middle Kingdom, the Mentuhoteps, in their successful attempt to strengthen the central power that could support an effective royal presence in the country, had to begin on a substantially different political basis that that of the Old Kingdom…As far as we can deduce, the Mentuhoteps met this challenge by taking advantage of the inevitable conflicts that arose between one principality and another. The Middle Kingdom pharaohs' final victory must have been essentially military. (Barocas pg. 50)

This structure was unlike anything else Champollion had ever seen. It was not a temple, nor was it a tomb, but somehow some strange combination of the two. And corridor after corridor was covered with writing, row upon row of hieroglyphs and illustrations. The Professor translated as much as he could in his head, and what he could not translate he made rubbings of to translate later. And the story they told was nothing short of incredible…

It was true; the Eleventh Dynasty Pharaoh's reclaimed their power through a good deal of political cunning. However, their founder, Mentuhotep I, was not a royal by blood. He was a scholar, a scribe-in-training, and he was a master of the ancient texts. He read scroll after scroll of powerful spells, and became a mighty sorcerer, although he was forced to pursue his studies in secret, because he was not a priest, and the secrets of the magic world were not to be opened to him. However, with the discovery of a hidden library within an Old Kingdom tomb, he found secrets beyond his wildest dreams; the location of Narmer's tomb. There were scrolls of ritual, instructions on how to tap the power of Narmer. There were warnings there also…dire ones, which spoke of great disaster and urged the power of the shadow realm never be released again, lest it consume the world. Giddy, ignoring the threats and with the forbidden spells to guide him, Mentuhotep located the ruin of the tomb, half within the real world, half out of it. There he performed the long, difficult ritual that unlocked the fabric of reality, and opened the porthole to the dark way.

The monsters engraved on the tablets in the Temples across the land began to move, fight. With no one to command them, they flew through the halls of their temples, little more then phantom banshees. However there were those that were strong enough to perceive the single call. They followed it the way a blind man follows a guiding voice, and when the appeared the sorcerer enslaved them, binding them to his will so they could be summoned at any time. 

At first the sorcerer was ecstatic with the results of his spells. His magic webs had snared the most powerful monsters in the land; there were none who could stop him now! His enthusiasm faded a little when he saw that although the monsters were effective against each other, even the strongest monsters had little had over inhabitants of the real world, in particular, humans. Still, on this night the sorcerer-scribe's power had just opened the dark way, and could do whatever he pleased for a short amount of time. The phantom creatures came from all over the lands to answer his call, and his power was such that…

"The sorcerer called Ra from the heavens, and in the form of a huge golden dragon the god annihilated the old palace, and the weak pharaoh…and it was declared the will of the gods that this man should be king, and took the name Mentuhotep, out of respect for the city of Menthos, capital founded by Narmer himself." 

Champollion was enthralled. Sarah and Alex's eyes were very big. Going through the temple was slow, because they stopped to read every single inscription. 

"Is this a legend, or a history?" asked Sarah.

"This is nuts…" muttered Alex.

"Sarah, monsters coming to life? A little hard to believe, I think this here is a legend," said Champollion, moving on to the next wall. "There's more…"

The texts on this area spoke of how, with this newfound power, the new Pharaoh eliminated most of those who worked against him, replacing them with second-sons who feared his power and owed him their positions. And Mentuhotep continued to seek out the most powerful of the shadow creatures. A law was passed that all monsters with an attack above a certain level fall under the direct jurisdiction of the king and must be given to His Majesty as a gesture of obedience and goodwill. For those courageous few who resisted, there was one alternative. The nomarch could challenge the Pharaoh to a "duel," his strongest magics against the King's. If the nomarch won, the king would grant whatever request the victor might have. If the king won, the nomarch and the oldest son and daughter of his family would be sent into the chaos of the shadow realm forever, and all the dueling magics in the nome would be offered to the pharaoh in peace tribute. In this way, all those who would oppose the new rule were banished into darkness, and with every soul imprisoned the power of the king and his monsters grew greater.  

The three moved on to the next wall. This one was a recounting of the origin of the dueling magics. 

They were as old as Egypt itself, called from the shadow world by the great magician Narmer.

"Narmer was the first king of unified Egypt!" exclaimed Sarah. 

Alex was spooked. The feeling that he knew this story was getting stronger and stronger every second. 

"Yes…" mused the professor. 

Apparently, Narmer had been a Borderline, a person who existed on both the human and the shadow plane. He had found a way to ensnare the powers of the shadow realm, summoning huge monsters of battle to his aid. However, after the unification of the North and South was complete, Narmer placed the monster-stones used to call upon the power of the shadow-beasts in the floors of many temples throughout the land, and forbid the people to even touch them. They were soon forgotten. 

Until Mentuhotep I unlocked the shadow gate. 

"This cannot be," said Champollion, "if these stones do exist, why have we never found them in any of the other temples?"

"Keep reading," said Sarah. "Maybe it explains."

They however, they had finished reading all the walls in this room. Time to move to the next one, and see what secrets that one had to divulge…

What else was this place hiding? 

Upon the bluff, the young man with the hieroglyph tattoo was livid. Turning to his companion, he said, "You are just going to let this happen? You are going to let these thieves take it? Take _him?"_

The man in the turban slowly opened his eyes. His black eyes seemed to probe deep into the soul, unforgiving and fierce. "The pharaoh is stirring."

The tattooed man gave a start. "Wha-what? He's waking up?"

"I did not say that," said the turbaned man. "No, he sleeps still. However, he is responding." He was quiet for a long time. Then, "If it is truly the will of the Pharaoh, then these are no thieves. If not, kill them."

The tattooed young man, scarcely more then a boy, turned back to watching. His deep blue eyes were on fire. 

"Mon dieu…" exclaimed Professor Champollion for what felt like the hundredth time, staring at the next enormous obstacle: the heavy stone door, bearing the symbol of the eye, decorated with the insignias of strange monsters. 

Sarah looked at Alex. He met her gaze, sighed, and rolled up the sleeves of his khaki shirt. "Guess it's my turn," he said. "Step away doc." 

Confused, Champollion stepped aside, watching. 

The youth approached the door. He inspected it for a second, spat on his hands, rubbed them together, and gave the "iris" a hearty shove. It moaned, creaked, then the door opened with much rumbling of the earth. 

Up on the bluff, the turbaned man held his ankh. "So, it is true then. They have found him at last."

Exactly what they had "found," was a truth and a story more soul shaking then anything anyone could have imagined.

(End chapter 4)


	5. The Boy King, Loved by All

Chapter 5: The Boy King, Beloved by All

This new room was much bigger then the other one. Whereas the other one was shaped like a cross, all the walls covered with the story of the magic stones, this one was a rectangle, with numerous pillars placed in neat rows like a grove of stone trees. And the story in this place was something truly incredible.

Alex's torch sputtered and went out. Then the professor's. The three looked at each other sheepishly, and crouched on the floor for a moment to reassemble themselves. The professor, because he was the one doing the translating, took the remaining torch, and Alex and Sarah lit candles. Soon they were back, listening to Professor Champollion as he carefully worked out what the ancient writing was saying…

After the unleashing of the Shadow Powers, the Pharaoh was again the supreme force in the land. With each rival he locked in shadows his spells grew stronger. The summonings, which at first had been little more then drawings on stone, began to move and breath. They began to cause damage, real damage, to things in the mortal world. And because the pharaoh held all the most powerful creatures, his rule was unquestioned.

Some kings feared this power, the power to summon destruction out of the very stones. But to maintain his position, the king had to be the best duelist of all, and by the Twelfth dynasty the priesthood that had command of the temples where the duel stones resided, had produced many gifted young magicians to oppose him. The strongest of these was Seto Sutekh-Sokar. His talents were such that he was made high priest at the age of twelve. His ruthless nature was apparent in his snapping blue eyes, and the Pharaoh feared him, until one rose who blew the talented Seto out of the water, so to speak. 

He was a prince, the seventeenth prince of the Twelfth Dynasty, the mightiest dynasty ever to rule Egypt, and the last in a line of great kings. Conspirators in the halls spoke of him in fearful tones, and whispered that he must be the son of a demon. He never cried, even when he was born. Some feared he was simple, but his violet eyes burned with an intensity that quickly abolished that rumor, at least to those closest to him. His mother watched in silent awe of this thing she had produced, and yet could not shake the feeling that he was not hers, in some way. She wondered if the rumors were true, could he really a demon, or a god come down to earth? His quietness never troubled her, there was too much fire in his eyes for him to be simple, and she assured her husband that he would speak when he was ready. Sure enough, at the end of his fourth year he did begin to speak; full sentences, with none of the babble that normally accompanies childhood speech. His voice was boyish, but it had a quiet authority underneath it and commanded obedience. All who knew him knew he was different. 

Never one for the frivolous pursuits of childhood, at the age of six he suggested to his father that the Fayum, the salty marshland west of the Nile Valley, might be reclaimed and irrigated, to liberate the royal house from being completely dependent on the provinces for food and supplies. The royal treasury was already rich with gold from the Nubian expeditions, and an independent food source would further strengthen their position. The king was intrigued by this idea, although dismayed when his son insisted on being the leader down into the treacherous bog. Schemers dwelled with hope on the possibility of an accident, but the boy's mother was not worried. She convinced the king to let the prince have his way. A royal magician went with him, for the prince would still need to learn to play Dark Games, and the marsh was the ultimate place to do this, away from the eyes of the conspirators.    

 Traditionally, the Middle Kingdom pharaoh's placed their heirs in command of the military troops, to let the people become aquatinted with their future ruler. This young prince received this commanding power at a much younger age then most. At the age of seven, he led a single group down to the Fayum to make his idea a reality. There, the men came to love him, this strange small creature with the crown on his brow, and the fire in his eye and the strength in his voice that was not that of a child, mucking around in the bog and filth in common man's clothes, building dams and working just like one of them. When crocodiles or catastrophe took one of his men, he would fall grim and silent for days. He alone seemed immune to the diseases of the bog, and when most of his men fell ill with a tropical fever he looked after them himself. He and his teacher-magician would go to find herbs and brew medicines, which worked with amazing effect. The men would gladly lay down their lives for him.      

"They loved him for his courage, they loved him for his heart, they loved him for his confidence…He was loyal and true to his friends, deadly to his enemies, for none surpassed him in the Dark games… None could play the Dark games with such skill…such skill could only have been a gift from the gods…No crown did he wear, for he had been crowned by Ra himself…and behold, he was wise and good…" read Champollion from the wall. Sarah and Alex were speechless, staring around them with a mixture of fascination and bewilderment. 

The story went on. 

Time went by. In two years the Fayum was habitable, and peasant families were moved in to begin farming. The prince sent his father a letter asking for permission to begin a city here, pointing out the positives of making this new city their capital (difficult for invaders to access, totally self-maintaining, close to the river for easy transport). While the king was hesitant about moving the capital from the ancient historical Memphis to some place in a swamp, he blessed his son on the matter of a city, and more troops were sent down to aid the construction. 

The city rose at an almost uncanny rate. Many credited this with the prince's impeccable management skills. There were whispers about the prince's mere presence filling the air with an unholy strength that let the men work from sunup to sun down, scarcely breaking a sweat all day, however, these rumors were never confirmed and the prince himself never believed them.

The mud cottages in the city were complete and construction was beginning on the stone temples four years after the prince first came to the Fayum. The first two harvests had been bountiful, and optimism was high. 

However, there was trouble brewing. 

Fourteen-year old Seto Sutekh-Sokar had been high priest for two years. Since surviving the rites of ascension his ruthlessness had intensified. Four two years he gathered his followers and resources, and now he was ready to make his move. One day came when the smirking Seto, flanked by his followers, went to the Pharaoh while he was holding court and smoothly issued his challenge. 

  Seto challenged Pharaoh to a duel in the old fashion: if Pharaoh won, Seto and all his followers would be banished to the Shadow realm for all eternity; if Seto won, he king, his wife, and son would all go to the shadows forever, and Seto would become the new Pharaoh. Then the young High Priest closed by stating that the King should stop cowering and accept that if he couldn't defend his crown he didn't deserve to keep it. No man truly given his power by the gods could ever be so afraid of him, a mere priest, correct? The king is nothing but a street mongrel trying to lead a pack of jackals, and he, Seto, would tear him to pieces for it.   

The Pharaoh was trapped. It was widely known that Seto Sutekh-Sokar was the most talented duelist ever to yet surface, and the truth was that the aging king did fear him. But Seto had laid his trap well; although under normal circumstances the king could have him executed on the spot for those taunts, one duelist challenging another may disregard courtesy and say what he likes to call his opponent out. The only way to respond to such taunts was to accept the duel, and show the young High Priest the falsity of his words, those insults would hang over him forever else. The two headed down to the dueling arena, followed by an apprehensive court.    

The duel was intense. Pharaoh started by calling the Curse of Dragon, and the air was filled by the shrieks of the flying beast. Seto responded with the Gyateno Megami in defense, and the attack of the dragon was nullified. The king sent out Summoned Skull, which took out the Megami, but Seto turned over his Trap Hole, banishing the Summoned Skull back to the shadows. Then Seto called Swordstalker, which destroyed the Curse of Dragon and gnawed at the king's life force. Gritting his teeth, the king called upon the Red-Eyes Black Dragon, but Seto activated a Negate Attack spell, and his Swordstalker came through intact. Seto then cast Dark Energy, and equipped his monster with the Sword of Dark Destruction, and the Red Eyes fell. 

One must take into account this is the most primitive of descriptions. No words can really describe the smell of burning, the sound of the monsters' battle cries, the shear intensity with which duels were conducted. Each man had his life on the line, and every time you took a hit you got weaker, and weaker, until the loser lost his hold altogether and fell into the gates of darkness, never to return. When a monster attacked you heard the steel, you saw the carnage, when magic was invoked you saw the fabric of reality shift as the spells took shape, when traps were activated you saw the struggles of the doomed creature. 

Yes, the description above is very bare bones indeed, but if I even attempted to describe the indescribable I should waste far too much f your valuable time, as well as making a mockery of my feeble literary skills. Instead I shall, how do you say it…"Cut to the chase." 

Eventually the duel seemed to be almost over. Seto had almost no life force left, and no monsters strong enough to protect him from Pharaoh's legendary Dark Magician. The king also had a Sword Arm of Dragon on the field in attack mode, left over from a few previous turns. 

The king was starting to relax. Unless Seto could come up with a monster strong enough to defeat the Dark Magician (and the pharaoh had exclusive privilege to all monsters above that level) Seto would leave his lifeforce open and the king would win. "The end is at hand, young peasant. You lack the strength to defeat me, although you have put up a very good fight. I will confess; this is one of the most thrilling duels I have ever played."

Set did something very strange. He chuckled. If you could even call it a chuckle, there was so much oily malice in it. "You think I you've won because you toasted some small monsters? I haven't even gotten started yet."

"What are you talking about, boy?"

Seto's stern blue eyes turned as hard and cold as ice. "Boy…I haven't been that since I passed the test to become high priest two years ago. You know, old man, about the rite to become high priest? No? Well, I'll tell you. Any attempting to ascend to the position is sent to the Shadow Realm. Trapped in the nightmare of unreality, shifting shadows that defy all reason, somehow one must keep enough wits about them to sense, for a shadow creature, find it, vanquish it, chain it to one's will. Then, in a superhuman feet, one must somehow cling to the monster's energy, ride it, until at last it carries them _back_ to the mortal world. A task few have the courage to attempt, and still I cannot tell you how many of those who did try have failed and died in the attempt. But I did it, at age twelve. I doubt you can claim to have done something equal. And that rite is going to be your downfall."

"What are you talking about?"

"I want to show you the beast I called from the shadows; the strongest ever to be harnessed by a lone _boy_. The monster sent from the gods as sign of their favor, as proof that nothing shall ever stand in my way!" He threw his arms skyward. "Behold! The Blue-Eyes White Dragon!"

The dueling stone rose from the floor. The stone engraving faltered, quivered, and breathed as the door to shadows was opened and an enormous white beast suddenly towered over everyone. Shining like the moon, its blue eyes seemed a fire, burning from within, not unlike Seto's own. 

 The Pharaoh could not believe what he saw. 

"Blue-Eyes White Dragon," snarled Seto, his blue priest's cloak flaring out behind him in the magical winds. "Attack with White Lightning!"

The beast let out a roar that filled the air. A sphere of white light flew from its mouth as it rained destruction on the Pharaoh's Sword Arm of Dragon, extinguishing the last of the Pharaoh's life force.

 The Pharaoh cried out as he left his soul leaving, sucked towards the shadowy gates that suddenly yawned before him…

His wife was suddenly beside him, a wraith as her soul also was pulled to the opening. She looked at him desperately. "Our son!"

The king understood. Even now he was still Pharaoh, and he held the right to wield all the powers of darkness…in his last moments, he made one wish with all his soul…and his wife beside him, adding her wish to his…

Seto was laughing, victory was at last his. 

"At last! I present my claim to the throne of Egypt! All bow before the new Pharaoh!"

"No."

Seto started. He looked around quickly to see who had spoken.

The Dark Magician. He stood there on the battle floor, like he had during the duel. Seto had not attacked him, because it was the Sword Arm of Dragon that would annihilate the king's -- former king's-- life. It had it's arms crossed, and was glaring at him with those unholy eyes. 

"You have no right to the throne of the Two Lands."

"Wha-What? You're a duel monster, how can you…"

"Hail, the new King of Egypt." he said, raising his staff high, then striking it down again, the magic shockwaves filling the air. Seto's Blue-Eyes shrieked and retreated back into the darkness…

The young Prince, the lightning crown on his brow vivid, his fierce violet eyes bright from unshed tears of anger and grief. He raised his hand and pointed at Seto with two fingers, passion making his voice resonate around the stone dueling arena.   

"I shall make you pay Seto Sutekh-Sokar, for what you have done to my family, what you have tried to do to my kingdom. By the secret name of Ra, I swear it!"

Seto was momentarily too surprised to speak. 

The Dark Magician went over to the Prince, looked at him for a moment, and sank to one knee. "I answer only to the true Pharaoh," he said, "and so are you coroneted."

He never spoke again. 

The new Pharaoh glared a challenge. "It's time to duel!"

The duel was one not to be forgotten. Seto relied heavily on his Blue-Eyes White Dragon, which was stronger then anyone had imagined, but the Pharaoh dueled with a skill that came directly from the gods. His traps and spells, combined with his monsters and his genius, carried him to victory. Seto Sutekh-Sokar screamed as his life faded away, the dark gates of the shadow realm opening before his eyes…

For a moment he could still see the new king, standing before the swirling vortex that was rapidly engulfing him, but he was not going to beg…He was the youngest High Priest ever, and he would never bow to anyone…

"It's true, isn't it?" said the king. "Your pride was such that could not stand being second to anyone, not even your king. The powers of darkness allow me to see into your heart Seto Sutekh-Sokar. Your heart is full of malice and bravado, toying with your opponents, torture and utter lack of mercy." 

Striking out in his anger Seto cried, "You're pretty unmerciful yourself, delaying what I know is coming! Just get it over with!"

The Pharaoh paused for a moment. On his brow, the Eye of the Thousand Years glowed. "You shall return from the darkness, Seto! You have done it once before, although this time it will be much harder. But you will make it back, and maybe this time the visions in the shadows will show you something other then cruelty and thirst for power." He raised his hand and pointed with two fingers. Seto clenched his teeth as his heart was torn asunder and his soul cast deep into the realm of shadows.

It was true that he would come back. And when he did, he had two new Blue-Eyes White Dragons harnessed to his will, and a hole in his heart where the prince had torn out the darkness that had burrowed there, like a parasite. Deprived of the imperviousness that being full of darkness gave him, Seto resented the new pharaoh, and cursed him for what he had been through. However, the people who worked with the young High Priest noticed that he took no more pleasure in tormenting his opponents.    

So began the reign of the King of Games. 

He was ten. 

(End Chapter 5)


	6. Teana the Graceful

For those who care:

            Sorry about the long wait for updates, uh, person-who-wrote-that-review. ^^;;;; When my friend had this story posted, I didn't think anyone cared, and I took my time working on it.  This is my first fanfic ever, and---no, I am not going to whine and show my needy nature yet again. I won't I tell ya!

Anyway, this fic was very, very hard to write, so please. Review it. I don't even care if they are bad reviews. Knowledge that someone out there cares is what keeps me going. 

Alright, I'll stop whining now. 

Chapter 6: Téana the Graceful

Sarah and Alex stood, looking long at the carving on the wall. A life size portrait of the young Pharaoh. He was not a tall boy, but his vivid hair made up for that. His eyes were painted violet.  

"So…that's the guy, huh? Am I crazy or does it feel like…"

"I know what you mean," said Sarah.

"My children!" beckoned the Professor. He was crouched on the floor, an open bag in front of him and a water bottle in his hand. 

Alex and Sarah suddenly became aware of just how thirsty they were. The professor had to warn them to drink slowly, to accustom their bodies to water again.  

"How long have we been in here?" asked Sarah.

The Professor reluctantly looked at his watch. "It is after three in the morning. All day, and most of the night."

Alex's stomach gave a loud rumble. 

All three exchanged glances. A deafening silence fell.

It was Sarah who broke it. "We can't leave now. Not when we are so close to what we have been looking for…somehow I feel I've waited my entire life for this day."

Alex tried to smother the complaints of his stomach. "I know what you mean, Sare'. Somehow…I feel this place is important to me. At first I thought it was my imagination, but…" he shook his head. "Maybe I'm just going crazy."

"Not unless we are all going crazy," said Sarah, cracking a smile. 

"A possibility I would not rule out just yet," said Champollion. He had found some smoked pork in his bag and doled it out quickly. 

The last torch had gone out. All they had now were the candles. 

Champollion took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes and forehead. There were lines of age around his eyes, many more then a thirty-year old should have. 

"Professor, are you all right?" asked Sarah.

The professor opened his eyes and smiled at her. "I'm fine. All the translating in the darkness is tough on my eye, that's all. I'm a little tired, but I'll be fine." However, a force deeper and darker then fatigue had begun to cast its shadow on the professor. 

He sensed that Sarah did not believe him. He stood up, stretching and yawning hugely. "Well, shall we get back to it?" 

There was a good deal still to see in the room. Each of the stone pillars told the story of a different duel fought by the young Pharaoh. Informative as these texts no doubt were, they did not have time to translate them all, for Alex had come across something on the far wall which made his heart stop (figuratively speaking, of course.)

"Sarah! Doc!"

"What is it Alex?"

"What is the matter, Alexander…mon dieu!"

They stared at the engraving on the wall. It showed three people, standing around the image of the Pharaoh. It was all profile because that's the way Egyptian art was, but the likeness was unmistakable. 

"It's us," whispered Sarah.

There was yellow paint on the head of the young man's image. The girl's short hair was russet red. She had her arms around the image of the crowned pharaoh, and was smiling. The blond boy grinned in the background. A little ways off was a taller boy, wearing a purple headdress over his short brown hair and a flaring blue cloak. This could only be Seto. He wasn't exactly smiling, but there was something in his expression that managed to convey benevolence.

Looking for an explanation, Champollion began to read the texts surrounding the life-size images. 

Their names were Téana and Jono, and they were the Pharaoh's dearest friends.  

Sarah and Alex stared as the professor relayed the story about their meeting with the boy king. 

In those days, people with red hair were thought to be demons on earth, wielders of black magic. Although by now this idea was fading in comparison to the abundance of real magic in the land (After you have stared down the maw of a fire-breathing dragon summoned from the stones, one red-headed kid holds few terrors), but still, in one small southern province a young girl with russet red hair was going to be executed as a demon. Terrified, her family sent their daughter away, to Lisht in the Fayum, where the new capital had been established. It was under the direct jurisdiction of the Pharaoh, and the small province she was from had to send an envoy to the Pharaoh to ask for permission before she could be taken back and executed. Not wanting to "trouble the king over such a small matter," some men were sent to retrieve her from under his nose. This was foiled when some of the king's guards heard the girl screaming and came to investigate. The soldiers took the girl back to the palace with them, and the case went before the king anyway.      

The Pharaoh called her forward. A slim girl, part of a family of acrobats that traveled throughout the land entraining the nobles. A girl of no blood, but a sincere beauty with the poise of a dancer. She looked up at the boy king with wide, frightened eyes. There were tears running down her cheeks. 

The Pharaoh scoffed at the envoy. The girl's hair was brown, not red, what did he think he was getting at? Still, if his people really wanted her, there were ways to deal with situations like this. And the girl was currently under his jurisdiction. The people of that province had no say over her right then, was that clear?

"Ye…yes, your majesty."

"Good. Then here is how this shall be resolved. Send your nomarch to face me in a duel. The victor will gain propriety of the girl."

The envoy was stunned. "But…your majesty…"

"This is the way arguments are settled when one province wants something belonging to another, correct?" 

"Of course but…"

"Well, I am lord of Egypt. I am aware it is more typical for lords to select champions to duel in their place in small matters like this, but I do my own dueling, and I expect no less from the leader of the province that challenges me.  Tell your nomarch to win the girl in a duel, if he wants her so much." The challenging eyes were a blaze.

The envoy was daunted, much more daunted then he thought he could ever be by a twelve year old. Now he knew well why this boy king was called the son of a demon. In the two years since the boy had assumed the throne, his voice had already deepened from that of a boy to that of a commanding man. Much deeper and more resounding then one would guess, looking at his slight frame and small stature, this voice created a striking contrast which commanded attention, much like the crown on his head. Who knew what this strange creature really was…

  The envoy mumbled that he would speak with his nomarch immediately. The king nodded and told him he had until the moon was full to provide the duelist or the girl would go to him by default.

The nomarch, of course, declined. Propriety of one demon-girl was not so important that he was willing to put his life on the line in a match with the duelist whose skill was fabled to come directly from the gods. The girl became the property of the Fayum province, under the king. 

They got to know each other. Her name was Tèana. The Pharaoh was a bit surprised to discover that underneath her kindness and poise, there was an indomitable spirit, quick temper, and the greatest capacity for belief he had ever seen. She never lost faith in her friends, even in the most hopeless situations. She observed him dueling. She was on the floor and watched; his punishments, his small defeats and eventual victories, and she never once saw him lose a match. She came to respect him, then admire him for his justice, for his courage, and for his heart.

 A long story short, they were soon great friends, and in her the Pharaoh discovered a powerful devotion, an unwavering faith that good would prevail. Her belief was so powerful it actually amplified the power and realism of his spells. He came to care for her greatly, and valued her as an ever-present source of support. With her by his side, he felt like he could accomplish anything.  

For a while she lived in the palace, but she discovered she didn't like being there all the time. It made her feel too much like an aristocrat. The pharaoh was loath to let her go, but allowed her to take up residence in the city with her family. She came to see him almost every day, and never failed to be present when he was dueling. She disliked seeing him put his life on the line like he did. At her urging, he accepted fewer duels, but those he did accept meant a lot more to him. Each pillar in the stone-grove of a room told the story of a different epic duel, and in almost every illustration she could be found somewhere. 

Sarah was trembling. Champollion reached over and put his arm around her to keep her from falling down. Some of her russet-red hair had come loose from her ponytail and was falling in her eyes; shadowing the face that was the ancient illustration come to life…

They read on.

(End Chapter 6)


	7. Jono the Brave

M-Sama: All right, sorry but it will probably be a little while before my next update because everything I've written past this chapter is bull crap and must be re-written. Anyway, on with the show.

Chapter 7: Jono the Brave

While Téana was born into a clan of dancers and had a relatively clear path ahead of her, the boy Jono was lost. He appeared in Memphis one day while the Pharaoh was calling on the vizier there, "strengthening his ties with the people," as he called it. Seto called it "keeping those troublesome nomarchs on their toes," earning a stern word and an amused glance from the king. Seto, as High Priest, was coming to answer a complaint about a thieving spirit from the local temples and "attend to business." This usually involved at least half a dozen people being sent to the shadow realm.

 Téana was coming to keep the Pharaoh company. But the Pharaoh was holding court all day; so Téana went down to do some shopping in the marketplace. 

Jono was not Egyptian; his golden hair was proof of that. His parents had been Roman traders, but they had died of a jungle virus when Jono was little, leaving him to fend for himself. He grew up a street-smart urchin. He was quite a bully at times, picking on those younger and weaker then him, but when pinch came to punch he usually stood up for the little guys. As a result, he had a very mixed reputation and none of the big boys really knew what to make of him. 

Jono was not skinny, his body was too well muscled for that, although he was not bulky either. He had a lean hard form, a natural fighter, and he relied on this skill heavily while growing up. Usually he could hold his own with the best street fighters, and if not, well, he could run. 

The Egyptian society was based on a barter system: one would exchange service or trade items for food and other goods. Jono was a good strong boy and could usually find some work to do for some pieces of copper or a meal, but since the nomarch of Memphis had started drafting more "troops" for a heavy mestaba construction job, Jono had been staying out of sight to keep from being drafted. He wanted to keep out of sight for another reason too; his golden hair, warm brown eyes, and lean young body made him a tempting target for predators of the worst sort. He had gotten caught once, and there was no way he was going to let it happen again. Since then he had been careful to darken his hair with khol to deaden the luster and render him less noticeable. The only way they were going to take him again was dead. 

Téana was shopping for some cloth in the marketplace. She found some wonderful gauzy stuff that would make a beautiful dancing wrap, and because she could pay with gold the merchant treated her well, although he was no doubt going to try and swindle her (what businessman doesn't?). However, behind her bright eyes and enthusiastic smile, Tèana had a lot more cunning then one would presume. She walked away with the cloth at less then half the merchant's original asking price.  She pranced a little along the street, the purchases slung over her shoulder, feeling very good about herself…

She felt a hand clamped over her mouth. Her arms were seized in a strong hold from behind, and her nose was full of the ripe smell of unwashed body. She was too terrified even to scream.

"Bitch, not resist or I'll have to hurt ya, an' that would spoil your looks for the dealer."

Her captor pulled her rapidly through the alleys and zigzagged through the mud-brick city. What was going to happen to her? She had heard stories, oh please, please…

WHAM! Something hit her captor in the side. He went sprawling, loosing his grip on Téana. Before she knew what was happening a strange boy was pulling her to her feet…

"Hey kid! Hey, where do ya think your goin' with my- Oh it's you."

The big guy was on his feet again. The boy moved to shield Téana and glared. 

The big guy smiled a very nasty smile. "So, if it isn't the golden boy. Oh you may have colored your hair dark, but that'll come out. The boss has been askin' for ya since ya ran away. Offered a nice big reward too. I bring you in with the little lady an' I'm set."

"Gonna havta get me first, ya big brute!" 

 With a very nasty chuckle, the big guy charged. 

The boy shoved Téana out of the way. Taking advantage of his lighter build and greater agility, he ducked the heavy swing, came up under the man's guard and delivered a devastating blow to the windpipe, knocking the breath out of the man. The boy stepped back a little ways and gave him a kick where it hurts and a couple good fists in the gut. 

The man moaned and went down. The boy gave his motionless form one last kick in the ribs and went to Téana. 

"Hey, you alright?"

Téana stared at the big guy's motionless form, and let the boy help her up. 

"That monster…that monster!"

"Yeah, I know," said the boy. "Wish I could put 'em all outa business for good. 's evil, what they do."

Téana nodded. "Who…are you?"

"Name's Jono," said the boy, grinning. "I 'aint got not family name, so I can't give it to ya. And you are?"

"I'm Téana. I'm a dancer in the court of the Pharaoh." She felt a little of her pride return. 

The big guy moaned. Jono gave him a kick in the soft spot on his thick neck and he went down again. 

"Let's get outa here, I don' wanna be around when his buddies shows up. Oh, and'a, here's that bag you were carrying."

They moved through the alleys as quickly as they could.

After a while, Jono noticed he was the only one running. He glanced back and saw Tèana, staring around.

"What'cha think your doin'? We gotta get out of here." He yelled. 

"I need to get back to the palace, which way is it?"

"Palace?"

"Duh, yeah," she said, heading off in a direction. "I told you I-"

Bam.

She turned a corner and ran smack into Seto Sutekh-Sokar, walking with some of his priests/groupies. She went sprawling in the dust again. 

Seto was stunned for a moment, and then recovered, snarling. "Peasant! How dare you?!"

" 'Ay!" Jono stepped forward. "Why don'cha watch where you're going, ya big jerk!"

Now, Jono had learned (of necessity) that you had to respect superiors in the Egyptian community. Lords were next to gods, well, next to the king anyway and he was thought of as a god-on-earth, although Jono himself had never really believed in this, after all, what sort of god would let all that pain into the world, and what would a god be doing on earth anyway when he was supposed to be up in the heavens. Afterlife must be a pretty dull place. Thus, Jono's (weak) subordinate tendencies quickly dematerialized in the face of injustice. He knelt and helped Tèana up, brown eyes smoldering. 

This is the wrong stance to take against Seto, who took (his) superiority very seriously. His expression darkened. "Oh? And who are you to address me like that, flea-bitten street mongrel."

"Stuck up pig! There's no excuse for hittin' a girl!"

Cold fire raged in Seto's eyes. "Bow down and apologize, you cur, or I will have your head right now!" 

Some of the priests growled and moved forward, hands on their daggers. 

Jono got into a fighting stance. "Wanna rumble? Fine wit' me!" 

Téana had seen enough. "Seto! Jono! Stop it right now!"

Seto shot her an irritated glance, then blinked. "Téana! Heh, you're so dirty I didn't recognize you. What are you doing here?"

Téana scowled. "I might ask the same of you. Don't you have some poor unsuspecting lower priests to lock in the Shadow Realm forever and ever?"

"It's called defending my position, and I got done early," said Seto, crossing his arms. He scoffed. "Aren't you supposed to be mooning around the palace, waiting for the king to materialize?"

Jono blinked. "Palace? Téana, who is this dude?"

"I am Seto Sutekh-Sokar, High Priest of the Shadow Temples and master of the duel magics."

"Never heard 'a ya."

Seto grit his teeth. 

"Hey!" yelled Téana, "I'm sick of watching this! Seto, we have to get back to the castle, there's something I really want to tell the king about!"

Seto growled, but when a lady asked for help, it is uncouth to refuse. "Alright then, let's go." He started off, only to have her turn to Jono and say, "You should come too. I'm sure Pharaoh will give you a reward for saving me."

Jono blinked. "You kiddin? I thought you were making that whole thing about the king up to sound important. You REALLY know the pharaoh?" 

Téana was so shocked she hit him. "You jerk! Of _course I know him, I wouldn't make up something like that; I'm not a liar!" _

Jono rubbed his cheek. "Okay, okay, I believe ya!"

Seto smirked. "Save us all from the wrath of a woman…"

Téana whirled on him, shooting him a death glare. 

Seto shut up immediately. 

"Well?! Let's go! The king's waiting!"

The king was indeed worrying about Téana. When she came into the throne room safe and sound, his relief was noticeable, and he gave her orders not to leave the palace again without his permission. Téana scowled at him too, but knew she was not allowed to talk back to him when he was holding court. She would have to wait to tell him what she thought about his trying to run her life. 

She got her chance sooner then she thought, for the pharaoh closed his affairs for the day and called them all to a sitting room, were he sat them dawn and asked them what happened. 

He listened to Téana's account of her afternoon adventure. He was horrified. He apologized to her for not being there, and said she would not be going out alone from now on. Téana clenched her fist and insisted she had no problem with that, but he had another thing coming if he thought she was going to let him run her life. Pharaoh glared at her and said, with a razor edge to his resonating voice, he _was going to run her life if she continued to gamble with it, she was his responsibility and Ammit take him if he was going to let anything happen to her! _

Tèana looked at her hands, folded in her lap. "You're right…I'm sorry…"

The king then called Jono forward. Jono couldn't believe he was really sitting there with the King of Egypt, he could not believe someone had risen their voice to said King of Egypt, the most powerful man in the world, although this became more believable when he remembered the girl was Téana. She was a fiery one. 

Seto got up. He stated he had had things to do so if they didn't mind…The Pharaoh nodded and Seto left. Then the king began to quiz Jono about his life. 

Jono found himself telling everything. How his parents had died when he was little, leaving him all alone in a strange land, how he had fought, and stole, and worked, and puzzled his way to live as long as he had, running from drafters and those dirty dealers…

The Pharaoh was shocked. "But such things have been illegal for years!"

"Some people don' care, your Majesty. Long as there's been laws, there has been people breakin' the laws…"

Jono remembered hearing that phrase somewhere, and it sounded learned and important, so he used it. 

"I see," said the king, his eyes darkening. He rubbed his golden headband, and the Eye of the Thousand Years, the symbol of the duelist magic that was embossed there. "Please continue."

By the time Jono was finished talking, the Pharaoh was quietly outraged. "Jono, how would you go about exterminating these filthy operations, if you could?"

"Well, I don' really know, your Majesty. These people been running from the troops for years. Ra's name, lotsa soldiers go there when they get off duty! I saw plenty during the time I was there."

The Pharaoh stood up. His soul-searing eyes were on fire. "Thank you Jono. You have opened my eyes to something that should have been dealt with long ago. You may rest assured that this will be taken care of. Téana! Find a room for Jono please, and alert the servants." He clapped his hands. A scribe materialized out of nowhere. "Alert the nomarch. I will speak with him over dinner tonight. It is of utmost urgency, I have much to discuss."

Téana took Jono to one of the spare rooms. A couple servants appeared and prepared a bath, washed the khol out of his hair and were startled to discover it's golden hue. Clean clothes were laid out for him. 

Jono was fourteen.

Jono stayed in the palace. His job became to sort out the evils in a nome and report them to the pharaoh, and he left to wander the streets and scout out the troubles. The king bullied Seto into teaching Jono how to use the duelist magic's, so he could protect himself against basically anything. He became great friends with Téana, and even with the king. He was surprised, but underneath that crown of hair, those scorching eyes and that weird deep voice, the Pharaoh was actually a brave, clever guy with a great heart. 

Three best friends, happy with their friendship. Together they had many adventures and got into lots of trouble, but they always came through for each other.  

_For those of you who care, khol is the name of a powdered black pigment, used as make up and dye in ancient Egypt.  _


	8. The Seraph

M-Sama: Don't ask me what made me work on this now…if the following makes no sense, it is because it was written in the dead of night, the night before a math test, by one who should have been asleep hours ago. Thank you so much, you people who review. It makes all the difference in the world to me, and this thing is so hard to write I NEED constant encouragement or I wonder what the point of it is.  

            Sorry, enough wining from me. On with the show. 

Chapter 8: The Seraph

Like I have said before, there is no time in the shadow realm. No space either, so I don't know where I was, or when it was, but sometime between my first and second encounters with the crowned sleeper, I saw another who stands out very clearly in my mind (it's hard to hold any memories for an eternity in this bending ocean of unreality, especially for me, so it's quite an event that I remember any incident for any mentionable length of time).

_What an apparition he was, face framed by a lion's mane of snow-white hair. Another thing that struck was how similar he seemed to the crowned sleeper. His eyes had a similar fire to them, framed by razor-eyelashes. These eyes were wide open, though they saw nothing, and he clutched his wiry body with his small, almost feminine hands. _

_There was cruelty in those eyes. And utter ruthlessness. Courage like the serpent, which lies in wait for it's prey, hiding but ever-watchful. It made my blood run cold._

_"You, your face is that of a seraph, but your eyes are alight with a demon's flame. What manner of fallen angel are you?"_

_While most of those locked in the shadows live blindly, holding on to their illusions of the world they left behind, dreaming, I have found myself by studying my fellow lost souls. Perhaps I have never slept because the instant I entered the shadow realm, I abandoned all hope of ever leaving it. Well, perhaps not immediately, it takes time for one to become used to the idea of eternal wandering, life without reason, even for one like me, who (although I had a fondness for the world) never really felt a part of it. Because I live without hope, I never feel the sting of need, or the throbbing ache of disappointment or failure. One may argue I never feel happiness either, but this is a small sacrifice, don't you think?_

_Please forgive me, this story is not about me, but it is necessary for you to understand why I respond to things the way I do, or my narration cannot possibly make sense. While others have closed in on themselves, I have expanded, letting my identity drift away in favor of the vision to see others. This vision is what had saved me. At times, living through the life of another helped alienate the only pain I can feel…the ache of loneliness…_

_The seraph didn't see me. His eyes stared at his goal, and only at his goal. But he heard my words, perceived them somehow through the muffle that plugged his ears and blinded his eyes to the reality of his condition. He smirked, his mouth twisted into the most malevolent sneer I have ever seen on any creature. _

_Power. He desired power. Why? What good could it possibly do him in his condition? Didn't he see he was trapped? _

_No. Maybe he didn't know why he desired this power so desperately anymore. Maybe his veil was weakening ever so slightly. Maybe that's why his sneer faded and his demonic dark eyes blinked, as if, for one instant, the blind fog shifted and he saw me…_

_It's just as well that look faded. I've become so accustomed to invisibility I don't know what I would have done if someone had actually seen me after all this time. No, if his blindness of purpose and desire will keep him functioning all these years, who am I to take it from him? One instant, one blink of an apparition beyond the veil, that's all he will get for thousands of years. _

_Golden chains. He was covered in them; steel-hard chains of golden fog. He was bound hand and foot to something in the material world. _

_This startled me. What could exert such a binding power that not even one's soul could escape it? _

_Desire, of course. Most of these chains were of his own making, created by the want and need in his heart. Something had merely made them tangible. _

_I had a sudden vision of a golden ring circling a pyramid-symbol, five pendants dangling from it like claws, taken as trophies off some slain golden animal…_

_It chilled me through and through, this demon-seraph, this ring that turned want into tangible bindings…_

_I had seen enough. I fled as quickly as I could, and by the time I stopped to look back he had already vanished into the fog and lightning that is the realm of shadows. _

There was another story on the wall that bears mentioning. 

If you read the previous chapter carefully, you read that Seto had come to Memphis to investigate complaints about a thieving spirit. He found no traces that any spirit had been there, and was angry to have been disturbed over the overactive imaginations of some temple maidens. 

All this didn't change the fact that something was eating the offerings left for the gods on the steps of the false doors, and stealing idols from the false door alcoves; idols which later turned up in the bazaar, hidden beneath the foodstuffs in smugglers wagons. 

The temple's protectors rigged traps. The thief found a way around them. He stole food to eat. He stole trinkets to get money. The temple's high priest issued a proclamation stating whomever the thief was, he would never find peace in death. A curse was on his soul forever, and Ammit the Devourer would feast on his heart!

The thief couldn't care less. Did they think he was just anyone? That fate would turn on him just because a gaggle of silly bowers and scrapers said to? It was laughable.

If the Pharaoh was seen as the son of a god, then this boy must be the son of a demon. He seemed to have no father. His mother was a concubine in the palace of a great lord in Thebes. She was a beautiful woman, but had a harpy's soul; she hoped this child would convince her lord to kill his wife and banish his other concubines, so he would marry her and she could slit his thought some night and inherit all his estate. She begged him to marry her, for the sake of "their child" but the lord took one look at the boy and knew he could not be the father if this, this _thing_. The boy's hair was white as snow and his skin was so pale it seemed luminous in dim light. He never cried, even at birth, and his dark brown eyes glowed with a kind of demonic knowledge. 

The mother herself knew the child was not her lord's but didn't care, if it would give her the lever she needed to manipulate him. Finally he sickened of her scheming and banished her. She immediately threatened to become a whore and use his name "as advertising." He struck a bargain with her; he would have his magicians teach the boy the duelist magics, if she would never mention his name again, indeed, forget she had ever known him. To this she agreed.

For ten years things went as planned. She whored, leaving her son alone for days at a time, and the little boy would head off at every opportunity to the palace, to learn magic. By age six he was already an accomplished pickpocket. This was all well and good, but he wanted more. Much more. 

He caught on to the ways of magic quickly, and the magicians would murmur that it was as if he had been born to do it. He would always smirk, eyes peering from behind those snow-white bangs, like a heavenly assassin, an angelic hunter.

His mother was a mistress of seduction of all kinds, but that which she found most alluring was the seduction of the blade. She indulged in such things often, there was something so passionate about the red life, flowing. She sold an Asian trader exclusive privileges for a month in exchange for a slim, beautiful steel sword. A _kodachi_, the trader said, from far away Japan, "an island at the end of the world."  They made the best swords in the world there, and she believed it. The blade of the _kodachi_ was fine enough to slit hairs, and the feeling as she drew it across her skin was nothing short of delicious. However, no one would buy a woman who was sliced up like a fish net, which meant she couldn't really cut herself the way she wanted to. It was fortunate no one cared about the slices on her son; she could take his blood all she wanted. It gave her such satisfaction, drawing a line across the boy's scalp, watching the silver white turn glistening red. The foolish boy, he endured the blade, but didn't seem to love it. He'd stand there, sullen, glaring at her with those eyes, unmoved by the blood that flowed down his face in those beautiful crimson cascades…those eyes. She shrunk from those terrible eyes, dark as the Nile's sacred mud by starlight, but cold as the chill desert winds in the winter nights. She hated him when he fixed her in those eyes, and raved at him, cutting deeper, but he sensed her fear and smirked. A tributary of the red waterfall entered the corner of his mouth, and he licked it. 

His mother left. She went to her usual business haunt and was killed, caught in the middle of a drunken soldier's brawl. If he felt anything at this news, it was only a mild relief. Any compassion he might have felt, any emotions besides that that he might have had, had long since been crushed out of him, by his mother's cruelty, by his teacher's hate…One had to be deadly to survive. 

The next day, he went for his magic lessons. The twins who were his teachers had abused him since he was little, groping their slimy fingers through his hair, down his legs, while making comments on how beastly but, oh, so divine his mother was, did she pass that on to you, boy? He'd fix them in those eyes and whisper in his rushing voice that he would destroy them all. They'd laugh. He'd endure it, because he wanted to learn the magic. 

No more. This day he hid his mother's kodachi beneath his tunic, and when one of the twins moved to stroke the hairs on the back of his neck. Suddenly the man was missing a hand, holding a bloody stump and screaming. The other snarled and leaped for the boy, who sliced the man's crude dagger in two and buried the Japanese blade in the man's big belly.  

He stayed in the city long enough to exchange the sword for as much gold as he could get his hands on. Never mind it was his mother's treasure. It was full of memories of her, and he couldn't wait to be rid of it. 

He went to Memphis, figuring he would lay low there, in case anyone was looking for him after what he'd done to those two scumbag magicians. It was in Memphis he heard rumors of the core, the source of all the shadow magic: seven items, older then humanity itself, each possessing it's own, unique power…

The concept intrigued him. Because of his training by the magicians, he could read and write, strange abilities for a peasant boy. He was soon using some of his gold to bribe scribes-in-training to smuggle magic texts out of the classrooms in the temples. He scowered these, looking for any mention of the Thousand Years treasures, and although there was only the most passing reference, the little tidbits he found made him all the more egger to possess these things. If he could possess the power spoken of here, he would wield power unheard of since Mentuhotep I. Let the world try and ignore him then. Let his mother draw her blade across his hair while telling him he was beautiful then. Let her just dare do that. Let those filthy twins make mockeries of him when he wielded the power of the gods. Let them all just try. 

Peasant boy? Hardly. He was a demon from hell. 

And everything was going just peachy until the night he was caught.  


	9. The Demon in Bondage

M-Sama: Alright everyone, sorry about the wait. To tell the truth, this fic is getting harder and harder to write as the story progresses…Please. Your enthusiasm for the story is all that keeps me going. It sounds lame, but it's true. R, whoever you are, sorry I was so oversensitive. If you like my stuff, by all means tell me so, I promise not to freak out again. Maria, I inserted you in this chapter because I needed a name. Ed & Ego, I've read some of your stuff. It's funny as hell. It means a lot to me that you like this fic. 

Answer to some commonly asked questions; I WOULD NEVER DREAM OF SETTING DOMINO CITY IN AMERICA! Sorry if that's what is sounded like I was doing. As for the dub/jap names, the names used in this fic were taken off the video game "Forbidden Memories," because that was all I had to go on concerning their characters. (Yes, I watch the show religiously, but those are a different set of characters. Stop confusing me!) If Jonouchi and Anzu show up later, rest assured they will be called by their proper names. 

As for the king's name, because he was Twelfth dynasty I guess his name would be Amenemes XVII. Only the founder of the line got to pick a name, all of the line had to bear the same name, just different number. 

Also, the guy with the tattoo is not Malik's brother. At the time this story was set, Malik was not born yet. He is just some random member of the Istar family, Malik's father, or grandfather, or something. ^^;;;;

If you like this story, nothing would make me happier then for you to review it, except for you to tell all your friends to review it too. The more you review, the more energy I have, the more I write and the faster the story goes. 

Anyway, enough idle chit-chat. On with the show.

Chapter 9:  The Demon in Bondage

The air was full of the crackle of magic. The huge white beast boomed into existence over Memphis, wings thundering, shining like the moon in the night. 

Earlier that day, High Priest Seto Sutekh-Sokar had received a dispatch by way of a shadow messenger. Shadow messengers were only used on the most important occasions, for although they could travel great distances in an instant by way of shadow realm shortcuts; they were extremely difficult to control. Although Seto had a little trouble figuring out just why this message had been so urgent. Sure, the idea of a thief who knew duelist magics was intriguing and very important, but honestly, was did it justify the panicked terms the resident priest had used to beg for his guidance? 

Anyhow, he would find out when he got there, he supposed. There had better be something more to this story, or he was going to be very grumpy that he had been woken up for this. 

The Blue-Eyes let out a resounding roar to announce it's master's arrival. It is such a shame that no one now lives who remembers this sight, for the Blue-Eyes White Dragon in full flight, magic crackling down it luminescent sides like lightning and the intense strength of the High Priest's magic making those sides as solid as anything in the real world, the pure might displayed in those booming wings and the all-seeing burning of those blue eyes, was one of the most fantastic visions the world has ever seen. Of course, Seto intended as much. He revered his dragons, and was not shy about displaying their might to the world. 

The worried little priest was at the entrance, wringing his hands. Seto didn't even bother trying to talk to him, past the essential formalities. He turned directly to Maria, the priestess in charge of the maidens, who was the first to hear the stories of a phantom, and had rigged the trap that had eventually caught the thief. 

He had been sneaking around the library, she said. This particular temple, as the central shrine of Memphis, was one of the few places that had a map to Narmer's tomb, where the Thousand Years treasures rested.  There were so many alarms and traps guarding that scroll that had been foolish for the thief to try it, no matter how prodigious his talents concerning the dueling magics. 

Seto doubted he would have trouble getting through their differences, but he was not tempted to try. A thief who knows the duelist magics, hem? Any idea where he learned it? 

Maria was sorry, she didn't know. None of their threats had managed to get a straight answer out of him, and he laughed at the threats of torture. 

"Why were his hands not cut off, as is the typical punishment for thieves?" inquired Seto, a rather nasty smirk on his face. 

Maria replied that this thief was so extraordinary she did not think it wise to spoil him just yet. He may prove useful. 

Seto did not reply. They made their way into the temple, ignoring the whines of the priest who hovered around them. 

All Seto's reserves faded when he got a good look at the thief, bound hand and foot with Maria's new Chain Energy spell, a unique spell that traps rather then destroys. He relaxed inside the bonds, flexing his lean muscles. It was easy to see why the maidens had thought him a spirit. His hair was a lion's mane of pure white; his skin seemed to glow in the light if his magic bonds, and his eyes…Those eyes those of a destroyer, one who would rob you of your very soul. He looked like a god of death, come up from the underworld to slay those he would. He stood in his bonds and smirked, challenging someone to stop him if they could. 

But in Seto Sutekh-Sokar, the hell demon met his match. Seto was not intimidated, though he knew why others would be. There were no monster tablets here the thing could call on, and those chains wouldn't give. He could glare all he liked; it made no difference one way or another. 

 Seto was intrigued. "You are correct Maria, this is quite a sight. Although he is clearly not a spirit. Heh, we have nothing to fear from him."

The thief chuckled. "Simpleton, you know not what you look at," he said. He snapped his terrifying eyes open, his voice cutting the air like a knife. "Release me now, or regret it for all eternity."

"Heh," said Seto. Cold flames smoldered in his blue eyes, clashing with the demon light in the brown ones of the seraph assassin, clashing and defeating. "Oh, the earth father quakes where I stand." He grinned a very nasty grin. "I hear tell you know a little something about summoning the duelist monsters. Care to prove it?" 

"I would only be too glad," said the thief with a smirk. "Although I would require freedom of motion for a proper demonstration." 

"Where did you learn to duel?" 

"From the gods in above and below the earth."

"You mock me," said Seto, narrowing his eyes. "Dangerous play, peasant." 

The thief fell silent. _Peasant, he says. Ha. I am no more a peasant then that Pharaoh he so worships. But I will be silent now. I will play his game._

But the powers of shadow give special senses to those that master them, and Seto heard everything. "Cocky boy," he said. "I can tell by looking at you that you have no blood worth mentioning. You're nothing more then a common thief, but there's something about you that intrigues me. You say you can duel?"

"You have no idea."

"Indeed. Let's make a little wager. Let's have a little duel. If you lose, you have those strange eyes of yours gouged out, your hands cut off, and will be thrown out into the street to starve."

The thief gritted his teeth. "And if I win?"

"Well, you shall not be mutilated. What more then that, you'll just have to find out, won't you?"

The thief was not smirking now. His eyes were hard. He was startled to discover he could feel fear, he, who really had nothing to loose. "I agree," he said. 

"Very well," said Seto. He turned to Maria. "Get some real chains. He's coming with me."

"May I ask why?"

"I want to present him to the pharaoh, before we duel. I think my revered king will think all this very amusing."

"Amusing," wasn't quite the word to describe the Pharaoh's feelings towards this situation. 

Tèana found it damn right appalling, and said so--loudly. Seto stated that according to the law, the boy should have had his hands chopped off the instant he was caught, and that would have been that. At least this way he had a way to earn his life back. 

"I know that," said Tèana, "but I still don't like it. Not one little bit." 

The king stood up. In that strange, deep voice he proclaimed that he would preside over this duel. It would be fought on a time limit. At the end of the appointed time, the duelist with the most life would be declared the winner. 

They walked to the dueling stadium. A servant walked up with an hourglass full of fine sand. The king declared the sand would take ten minutes to empty from one glass compartment into another. Tèana, dressed in her dancing finery, took the hourglass and turned it over. The duel had begun. 

It was a close match, although Seto didn't seem to be trying. He made simple plays, then sat back and watched as the thief tried to come up with ways to counter them. The thief was inexperienced at formal dueling, and knew of more ways to use the monsters against humans than against other monsters. However, he was quick; his eyes burned as he conjured huge monsters with much more magic power then he should have had, considering his inexperience. 

Seto was amused. This duel wasn't so much a real battle, as Seto testing the strange peasant, seeing how much he could conjure and how much power he had. This boy was undisciplined, but he knew some very advanced moves.   

Sometime while all this was going on, Jono showed up and inquired what Sir Wears-A-Dress was doing with that creepy dude out there. Tèana explained the situation, and exactly what she thought about it. Jono loudly agreed with her. What did that purple-big-head think he was getting at, playing with a dude's fate like that? 

"This is a shadow game," said the King grimly. "They both agreed to it. Shadow games are commonly fought with such high stakes."

"For no terribly good reason!" cut in Tèana. 

The king was silent. He did not look at his friends.  

Out on the battle floor, the duel raged on. Seto had just merged his Mystic Horseman with his Battle Ox, producing the Rabid Horseman, which was wreaking havoc among the thief's creatures and wearing down his mental energy. He was having more and more trouble conjuring his monsters, and his hold on life was slipping. 

But he was a cunning white fox. There was one beast at his disposal that could win the duel for him, if he could only find the strength to conjure it…

His mother was laughing at him, beautiful face an insane mask…she'd be waiting for him, her silly boy, never worth anything…

Worthless? WORTHLESS?!

And with a tremendous pull at the fabric of reality, almost fainting at the effort, he called the Red-Eyes Black Dragon into the real world. It destroyed the horseman just as the last of the sand drained from the glass. 

"I win," said the thief, his umber eyes dark bonfires, alight with victory and suffering. That unholy smirk crossed his face one last time; he sunk to his knees, and fainted. 

Seto smiled a little. It was still not a nice smile. He snapped his fingers and the dueling stones levitated back into the storage rooms. The floor was cracked and there were char marks on some of the pillars. The place would have to be repaired again. It had to be repaired a lot these days. Less effort was required to make the monsters real, although the magic pull was becoming draining. Seto had a headache; such as he should not have had after only ten minutes of dueling. He supposed he must be getting old, or something. 

He walked up to the king, his hard eyes still holding traces of that smirk. "So, your majesty," he said, "what do you think?"

"Truly, he is something else," said Pharaoh in that deep, rich voice of his. "What will you do with him now?"

Jono came running up. " 'Ay, ya creep! What was with that?"

"I was testing him," said Seto. "I wanted to see what he really was."

"And what is he?" asked the king. 

"Not what I thought," said Seto. 

"You thought he might be a scion, a child of magic," said the king. 

"Just as I suspect with you, your majesty," said Seto. "He might be, but there is a great deal of human in him, more so then with you."

The king's eyes lit on fire. "I am my father's son," he said, his strange voice cracking like a whip. "Are you questioning my lineage, challenging my right to succession?!"

"By the secret name of Ra, no," said Seto, his tone meaningful. "Who knows better then I that you are the rightful king? Forgive me, I meant nothing by my blatant statement."

"You are forgiven," said the king. The king and queen may be his parents, but there was more involved in it than that. He was too strange to merely be a precocious boy, and both he and Seto knew it. 

Tèana and Jono watched anxiously as the silence dragged on. 

Finally Seto raised his head. "Well, what shall we do with our thief? He has more power then most advanced apprentices and even some full priests I've known."

"He would be a valuable asset," said the king, "if he could be trusted. But his soul will never yield to orders, and he will turn on us the moment he sees the chance."

Seto smirked. "There are ways of making him trustworthy, your majesty." 

The king nodded. He knew. There were two spells that might work, Mind Control and Change of Heart. Change of Heart was the kinder of the two, but it left margin for free will, within a certain limit, and chances were Seto wouldn't take any chances, not right away. 

"Shall I present him to you afterwards?" asked Seto, taking this as a go-ahead. 

"No, he is your responsibility now. Trouble me no more with him." 

Indeed, the strange thief would trouble no one for a very long time. Seto kept him under Mind Control, with the intensity of the spell depending on how much ingenuity was required of the little puppet. Seto would keep him brainwashed, and unleash him at targets or send him to use his thieving skills to spy out places and hear things. But inside that imprisoned mind, the fiery soul of the demonic seraph refused to be extinguished. He knew something was not as it should be, and he raged within the narrow confines of his awareness. He sought the Millennium treasures. He wanted their power. That was all he knew. That was all he had to cling to in his years of confinement. And that was what would be his doom, when all the worlds were shattered and Armageddon seemed inevitable…


	10. Legend of the Scions

M-Sama's Note: No, I have not died. Until recently, I have had a very bad case of writer's block as to how I was going to handle this little problem. Then I came across a solution. STALL! 

            Just kidding. This next one's short, but I'm going to go write more now, so you shouldn't be waiting too much longer. Thank you so much for all your patience! I'll do my best to justify it. 

Chapter 10: Legend of the Scions

As the French professor and his two assistants traced out the story of joy and pain written on the wall, there was one tale that was not found there, and it is a shame, for it should have been. A great deal of heartache would have likely been avoided if only this tale had been widely known. There is an ancient tale, as old as the duel magics themselves, originating when the great and powerful Narmer chained the wild spirits to their prisons of stone, only to rise from their slumber when the right person called in the right way. It is Narmer's legacy, inscribed on very sides of his sarcophagus. 

**Ye who would unleash the power of darkness, take heed. **

If you would wield this power to save Egypt from destruction, take the items and do what you must, but be warned. When the crisis passes, seal the magic quickly. For if the shadow way is called upon too often, the blackness from the hearts of those who open it will feed into the power of the magic. The shadow will swell, gorged from the anger, fear, and desperation of countless duels to the death until the limits of this world become too weak to contain it, and the shadow shall rupture and spill. And the gods shall descend from heaven to unleash their own terrible wrath on those who would command them. But before their coming they shall send messengers. 

Scions. Children of shadow and darkness. Human but not. Their faces shall speak of their unworldly origins. Born knowing. Demonic knowledge, sent with them from the underworld. Ye shalt know them by this light. They are the angels of doom. Upon the arrival of the first, seal the magics instantly. For scions free in a world of magic will be drawn to it, and the magic shall respond to them, for it is of their clay, it pulses in their veins. And through them shall the magic unleash the minions of Seth, and the gates of chaos open on the world. 

But as they are angels of doom, so are they the means of salvation, for only the life-blood of the magic ones may close the gates of chaos, sending the horrors back to the underworld. The below rites must only be attempted if all other means have failed. 

Ye who wouldst call upon the powers of darkness; the price is high. Proceed only if you are willing to give your very eternal life unto the jaws of the Ammit the Developer to accomplish your goal.

All this was written on the sarcophagus of Narmer, surrounding the seven imprints where the items were to be placed, safe from the hands of evil for all eternity.

When the sorcerer who became Amenhotep I unleashed that power, he gathered the seven items from the tombs of Narmer's aides who had died so that the power of their treasure might die with them. He placed them in the stone lid, amid these dire inscriptions. The lid split, a crack running all the way straight down it's stone face. As the magic was freed, these inscriptions glowed with an unholy luster, and then turned to dust, leaving nothing on the lid but the dead king's cloven portrait. Doom was written on those blank stone sides. Perhaps it was destiny that foolish souls should drive recklessly down the very path Narmer warned against, leaving chaos and suffering in their wake. Maybe there is no such thing as mercy in this world. Maybe it was fate that the noblest soul of all would be the one who would pay the highest price to thwart the catastrophe his own existence should have warned him against… 


	11. The Angel of Doom

M-Sama's note: Hey Everyone! Just thought I'd let you know I'm here and I'm not dead. I'm so sorry this is taking so long…please be patient with me. I'll do my best to make it worth it. What you think of my work is everything. Thanks so much, you few who have been with me since the beginning, cheering me on. I'll never forget it. 

Chapter 11: The Angel of Doom

It's not like they weren't given many opportunities to see they were messing up. Something was going very wrong here, and it was to be the end of everything. 

Young duelist trainees lost control of their monsters, the effort of summoning shredding their souls and leaving their bodies vacant shells on the field. The black and red shadows that would linger on a field for hours after the duel was complete. Even experienced duelists like Seto would feel unnaturally drained after even a short battle; another poor upstart sent to the shadow realm, and the headache would last all day. 

The King had felt no such drain, but he sensed something was amiss. He pulled Seto to the side and tried to ask him about it. 

"High Priest Seto, I would speak with you."

"At your command." The words were civil. The two went to one of the king's sitting rooms. 

"Something has come to my attention that troubles me. I sense a foul wind blowing but I'm not sure from where."

"So what?"

"I sense destruction on this wind. Something doesn't feel right…"

"Your point is?"

The Pharaoh's eyes were hard. "I was wondering if you've felt anything similar, High Priest." 

"No, I haven't." Seto's tone, while remaining civil, somehow also managed to imply that he had much better things to do than sit around contemplating some vague sense of danger, and he didn't think much of deadbeat kings who sat around all day being paranoid. 

None of this was lost on the Pharaoh. He missed very little. "Mage, do not take that tone with me. I was simply voicing a concern." 

"Of course." _Stupid concern_. 

"…You may go."

"Regards, your majesty."

It was too bad the Pharaoh was so concerned about the approaching danger. Too bad he was so sensitive to the tide of the magic. The feeling of dread dogged his every thought, like an earache that wouldn't go away. Otherwise he might have noticed something was fishy about the way his High Priest was acting. 

To disappear for hours or days at a time was normal for Seto Sutekh-Sokar. To do so leaving no word or sign as to where he was or how he could be reached was less so, though not unheard of. To snap and sneer at the servants was his way. But there was something strange about it, just the same. 

One night, while Jono and the King were off busting up a grave-robbing den, Tèana and Seto were eating dinner. She was horrified by how pale he looked. His hand shook when he moved to life his drink to his mouth. She asked him what the matter was and he grumbled he didn't feel well. She asked him if he had been to the leech, and he said he'd have none of that medicine quackery, he'd be just fine. He proceeded to pick at his dinner, have it sent back to the cookhouse with many harsh words, stand up in a huff and say he was going to bed. Tèana watched him go, the one person she never thought she'd have to worry about… 

As abruptly as it started, it stopped. Seto's motions went from shaky to oily smooth. His color returned to normal. There was something furtive in the way he looked about him; something smug glances he gave the pharaoh. The smugness that comes from knowing you can throw your worst enemy to the crocodiles by raising your hand, yet you don't, not yet. You are just so pleased to know you can. 

_That fool of a king. He has no idea what's coming. How can he sit there and pretend to run his country when his head is in the heavens all day? Oh my foolish king. Oh Pharaoh! If you only knew…you will pay for what you did to me on your coronation. You should have finished me off while you could. Oh you thoughtless one, lost in your world. I will throw you back into the shadows you came from, you freak. You will pay, and all of the Two Kingdoms shall bow before me! I know it._

"Yes, yes you shall. I have seen it in the heavens. Seto Sutekh-Sokar, you are the champion. You will be the one who shall face down the darkness. The king's star is fading. His house is destined to fade, for he is the last of his line, the seventeenth son. It is time for a new king. A strong king. You; Seto Sutekh-Sokar. Your time is almost at hand." A peel of gleeful laughter rang through the darkness, insane laughter; thoroughly evil laughter. "Listen to that voice in your head, Seto. Listen to the dissenting summoning. Heheheh, and you call that king of yours a fool. It was quite surprising how difficult it was to push you into betraying that bastard king of yours; I would have thought you needed no urging. Still, your symptoms went away when you decided to take him down, didn't they Seto? When you stopped resisting? Oh, this is too much. Such a proud creature, willful with more courage and honor than you've had the opportunity to show, reduced to this. You still haven't figured it out, have you? Seto, you magnificent catch! The gods my kinsman must have placed you there to do my bidding. Ah, how wonderful this is. Everything's going according to plan…" The laughter rang out again like a lightning storm, rolling and crackling. 

The prophecy had come to pass. Two scions inhabited the world already, but this third one was a species unto himself. His build was slender, his violet eyes lit from within by a dark fire. His hair was golden and shaggy, framing his head in a halo like a lion's mane. His eyelashes were indistinguishable from the black markings that framed his unholy violet eyes. Victim of a twisted past, he had come to hate the world and everything in it. The world was full of chaos and pain, he knew. He was a child of that pain. His mission was to destroy it, being destruction upon the world. Not only that, he thought he knew how to go about it… 

He was aware of the power in his veins. He knew his whole being resonated to the duelist magics. He had learned to exploit this connection…make the magics resonate to _him_. In this way he had gained the power to influence, "push" at the mind of anyone who had ever dueled.

He came from a long line of tomb guardians, although he had been taken from them when he was a child when the desert nomads raided his home. He was a slave among them for ten years. Ten years of cruel labor and atrocities…but let us not duel too much on his past. It is enough to know that he crouches in the darkness of the tombs, and his skin is bronzed from sitting in the sunlit courtyards of the dead while his mind roamed the shadowy fluxing barrier between the shadow and the light, influencing, playing his mind games with the duelers. 

Chaos and destruction was what he desired. The world was a cruel, crazy place and must not be allowed to continue. He would see to that. Oh yes. And he brought out those same bloodthirsty feelings every time he "leaned" on a duelist. And he now he had the one, the final key which would bring apocalypse upon the world…

It had been easy. The thirst for power, the ambition, the intense rivalry and deep grudge he had against his king, and the pride that would make him oblivious to any outside intervention made Seto the High Priest the perfect target. Not to mention he had been pouring too much destructive emotion into his duels, and his constitution was weakening. It was easy to enter his mind and awaken thoughts of rebellion, and once that was accomplished Seto needed no more pushing. He thought up the plan himself for the usurpation, and fantasized about the slow torments he would subject the king to once his rival had fallen. He never asked why these things appeared in his head, nor would he have believed it if someone had told him _he_ was not the one who desired these things. His plans were in place. Now it was time to act. 

Burning in the sunlight coming through the pillars in the house of the dead, the angel of doom reared his halo of pale gold back and laughed to the sky. 


	12. The Rebellion

M-Sama: Yep, two chapters in one sitting. Aren't you proud of me? Maria, you're in this one again! Sorta. 

            Anyway, no one likes my mindless banter so on with the show!

Chapter 12: The rebellion

The uprising was swift and terrible, the fruit of Seto's intelligence, foresight, and malice. 

He was allied with the head of each temple across the land. Seto declared open rebellion against the king. On his signal the temples across the Two Lands slammed their doors and slew all within who did not renounce the king and swear allegiance to the High Sorcerer, for the Priesthood was nothing but a vocation for magical minions of the Pharaoh. Some of those cornered souls managed to send shadow messengers before they were hunted down and destroyed.

The king was in his bedchamber, pondering the threat in the back of his mind when the first shadow messenger arrived, leaving a hastily scribed papyrus scroll carrying this message. 

"Priests in rebellion. All magicians must swear an oath renouncing the Pharaoh or die. Look to your High Priest. They come for me soon, but I will not renounce my eternal soul by swearing. Take them down, your highness. ~Maria, Matron of the House of Maidens, Temple of Amman, Thebes."

The Pharaoh coiled the papyrus with hard hands. His mind and heart were tense as steel. He knew if what was on the scroll was true; he would receive another sign in less than fifteen minutes.   

A deep boom sounded at the palace gates. The king stood up, clad himself in his royal robes and jewelry, as usual bypassing the traditional pharaonic headgear for a simple golden headband bearing the Eye of the Thousand Years, a symbol of the duelist magics.  

Tèana burst into the room. "Your Majesty!"

"I know," he said, adjusting his golden armbands. "High Priest Seto has betrayed us. I must go see to this." He turned to face her, the grimness of his face enhancing the outlandishness of his features, the huge fierce eyes, the crisp delicacy of the rest of his face, his strange crown of lightning-hair and lean, wiry body…it all seemed as strange to her now as it had the day she'd first seen it.  

Tèana settled herself and returned his gaze. "Will there be a battle?"

"I'd stake my throne on it," he said. There was another series of deep booms, resonating through the palace. "And," he said, "it seems I am going to." 

Seto had left his small army of duelists in the palace courtyard to hold off the tides of royal guards, taking only a few in with him as went to smash into the Pharaoh's chamber. He mounted the steps and was approaching the entrance when his intended course of action became completely unnecessary. The king himself stood upon the dais, arms crossed, the warm breeze stirring his outlandish crown of lightning and making his cape flare out like violet wings.

"State the meaning of this intrusion," he said in that too deep, resonating voice. 

  Seto's followers became still and quiet. Even their summoned beasts ceased their streaking and returned to their stones, which were carried by a multitude of pall-bearing slaves from the temples.

Seto stepped forward. "I, Seto Sutekh-Sokar of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon, have come to claim the throne of the Two Lands. Your time is over, seventieth son of the Ammines line. Egypt must have a new ruler. A mighty ruler."

"And you suppose you are that ruler?" 

"You shall step down from the throne of the sun god or you shall be destroyed, along with all you hold dear."

"I was born the son of the king," the Pharaoh's voice resonated. "I am a child of Ra, the king of kings, and closest to the gods. You would usurp me with your treacherous ways?"

"I would have the gods decide who is worthy to lead this land," said Seto. "Now let's see what power you really have, king of kings!"

They entered the dueling floor. The Pharaoh had performed a summoning spell, which brought all duelists loyal to him to the floor. He was a tad worried about how few there were. 

Seto had no patience for working through anyone to get at his main opponent. He dueled mercilessly, refusing to send out any champions to duel for him. The king did send out one champion, before he realized Seto planed to do all the dueling himself. Seto was merciless. The king's man could not stand up to the might of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon, and the former priest made it quite clear it was the Pharaoh and no other whom he wished to duel, so the king should stop cowering and face him. 

The king accepted his challenge, to the dismay of all those loyal to him. He told them he would not send them like lambs to the slaughter. He would fight his own battle. Tèana put her hands to her mouth and prayed to all the gods in heaven to grant him power, to keep him safe, and to turn Seto's brain to goopy sludge, the treacherous slime ball. 

The duel began. 


	13. Gods Descending

M-Sama: Heyo all. Once again, here's another chapter. Finally. I had no idea how I was going to write this part, but I found it. It's a relief.

            Light at the end of the tunnel; I think I know how I'm going to end it. A few more chapters…Everyone, thanks for your patience. 

Chapter 13: Gods Descending

Alex, Sarah, and the professor stared numbly at the wall. It was almost two days, and they could no longer feel the passage of time, so entranced were they by the tale blooming from the stone hieroglyphs. Which made it all the more shocking when they came to the commencement of the duel…

"It's gone," said the Professor.

"It can't be…" breathed Sarah, hands over her heart. 

But it was. That portion of the wall was gone. The tablet depicting the battle between the Pharaoh and the treacherous Seto had been pried from the wall. That entire panel was missing…

_Naturally, this irked me. And I was too caught up in the tale of the tale of the crowned sleeper to let it rest at that. I searched the shadows, reaching back with my inner eye to see what I could…_

_I found the tablet. It was safe, wrapped in a cloth and guarded night and day. This puzzled me, for I could find no reason that a stone should be guarded._

_Stone. I got a good look at it, for no amount of concealment can deceive me, who's eye has trained over millennia to see the hidden. There was the king and the sorcerer, hands outstretched as if each was trying to ward off the other. Seto's Blue-Eyes White Dragon sprang from carved coils above his head, even as did Pharaoh's Dark Magician. _

_I couldn't see what had happened. I have not that gift of vision, though sometimes I wish I did for simplicity's reasons. But looking at that tablet, my heart was both slowly and suddenly filled with the emotions that had transversed the souls of the two duelists. _

Turmoil. Searing heat and air charged with magical energies. A ferocious exchange of attack and counter-attack, neither side able to completely overcome the other. Occasionally one of them would gain the upper hand, but the other was always clever and skillful enough to come back from behind. It was violent. Both sides were giving their all, knowing this was it, the last chance for them both. If they failed now it would be all over for them forever; even if they escaped the shadow realm, Pharaoh would become one of Seto's slaves, condemned to a live a slow painful life of constant torture; Seto would be executed in the most gruesome fashion for betraying his king. Sweat rolled down their faces. Both would die before they would let their opponent win, knowing at the same time there could be only one winner.

_There was chaos in their minds and souls. I could feel it just by looking at that carving. Heat, sweat, hate, desperation, will to dominate and the desire to destroy…And just when their emotions reached the breaking point, a huge swell of red energy surged and there was a tremendous explosion before the whole impression was whipped out…_

_Strange…what was this power? What had blotted out the emotions of the two, so all that was left was a vague despair? I scanned the rest of the stone for more clues…_

_There were more clues. Above the two dueling figures was carved three beasts, at ends of a triangle-shaped marking with an eye in the middle. Come to think of it…yes, there was the same design around the Pharaoh's neck! How odd. What was that pendant? Why had I not read about it before now?_

_Carving…pendant, surrender your story. I desire to know…_

It was the Thousand Years Dark Puzzle, one of the seven items originally used to open the way between the shadow world and the real one. This item was considered the symbol of the royal family, and was kept by the king as one of the crown jewels. When the king had donned his royal finery in preparation for facing the traitor Seto, he had donned this as well, little knowing how fateful that small act was. 

The Thousand Years Puzzle was one of the items used to unlock the magic. As such, it acted as a sort of amplifier, resonating to the emotions of its master and making the darkness resonate as well. Combine this with the degree to which the scion-blood of the king already influenced the darkness, the intense ferocity of the duel, and the desperation and power of both duelists, and it was just too much strain. Something had to give, and it did. 

Crouched in the sands and burnt by the dead sun, the golden herald of destruction threw back his head and laughed. He also held one of the treasures used to unlock the magic. The stick that transformed into a knife. He had found his manipulation of the magic much easier after acquiring that stick. Those who guarded them had become very careless, as now that the magic was released the items were presumed useless. Little did they know…

Everything was going according to plan. Everything.

The world simply ripped apart. The fabric of reality ruptured between the two duelists, creating a yawning gap pulsating with the red-black energy of the shadow realm. And from that gap came three beasts that had not walked the real since the night Mentuhotep I first placed all seven items in the lid of Narmer's coffin and set the shadows loose on the world. 

The huge red dragon came first. A swipe of it's giant head, a clash of teeth from it's two jaws, and the King and Seto fell. Ten minutes after the huge crimson head appeared out of the rip the palace was leveled, gone with a couple thrashes of the huge beast's tail. Another immense golden animal descended from the sky, reducing the sturdy stonewalls of the temple to rubble with a couple claw strikes. A giant blue monster strode across the desert, stomping villages flat with each giant step.

It was pandemonium. Tears were opening up everywhere. Untamed duel beasts were entering the real in the hundreds, as solid and real and deadly as anything in this world. No sorcerer-summoned creature could stand against them. 

The stricken king was bleeding down his forehead. He was half buried among the rubble. Tèana found him, and Jono strained at holding up the stone that pinned his friend while Tèana grabbed him under the armpits and heaved him out of the way. They gathered around him, peering anxiously into his face, waiting…

Although unconscious, the Pharaoh had still been all-too aware of the rifts opening all over his land. He felt the openings as if they had been slashed into his soul, a pain made all the more keen by the sudden knowledge it was all _his_ fault. He was suddenly sure of it. More sure than he had ever been before about anything. The world turned black around him, and he despaired. 

"I feel it…I feel these terrors pouring from wounds in my soul. I've done this. Even my duel monsters cannot help me now. I've doomed my people…"

"Doom it may be," came a familiar voice from the depths. "You were sent to this world to do what you did, scion of the shadow magics. If you had avoided the duel with the champion, you would only have delayed the inevitable. You were made one of the three heralds of doom. But there is still hope."

"…hope? How can there be hope?"

"You are not the type to despair. Your fire is too strong. Stop making yourself pathetic. There is a way to undo what you have done, but it must be done quickly, and there is great danger involved. Find the other two scions of magic, the heralds of destruction. They have each already claimed one of the Thousand Years treasures. Follow these instructions exactly."

The king lay floating in the darkness, listening. Finally he said. "I see. I must correct the mistakes I have made, and make it so the world will be free from repeating it." 

"Have courage. My son." A familiar face swam into view before his eyes, almost near enough to touch before fading away entirely, back into the darkness.

The king's eyes opened. "Father," he murmured.

"Jono! He's awake!" Tèana's face swam into view above him. 

"Pharaoh! Are you alright, man?" 

"Duh, he got hit on the head by a huge dragon tail and a couple dozen rocks," Tèana's voice was a bit shriller than normal. "Would _you_ be alright?" 

Pharaoh's head felt heavy against the broken flagstones. The familiar beloved bickering of his friends seemed far away. He had to get up. There was so much he needed to do…

**The last chance…**


	14. Pride of the Fallen One

M-Sama's note: AK! Sorry it's been so long, man, I'll be lucky if anyone is still interested in this…it was really a trial to write, and when you find out whom it concerns, I think you'll understand why…

Chapter 14: Pride of the Fallen One

"Here, the inscriptions begin again," said Professor Champollion, running his hands gingerly over the markings. 

Alex looked back at the blank wall, all the hair on his neck standing up. "Man, that is creepy. Why would someone take a piece of the wall?"

"This place has been neglected for thousands of years," said the professor, "it must have been tomb robbers. What remains of the tale is vague, and incomplete, but I shall read it anyway…" 

Seto stared at the ruins of his temple; his own palace, the one place where even the pharaoh's word had little power against his. There were his servants, there were the clerical students, the instructors, his subordinates, people he had known and worked with since he began his duelist training, people he had never known he cared for…

The stones moaned and threatened to fall in on him, but Seto walked like a man in a dream. The familiar halls were rubble, the sky shone on the devastation. He found himself on the temple's dueling floor. The stones were cracked, the surrounding pillars gone, the stone dueling slabs shattered and empty. And there on the crumbling wall was the tale of how the duels came to be. It was all so familiar, and yet…

Seto staggered. His knees buckled, his headdress fell from his brown hair, and he kneeled there on the stones, trembling, transformed in that instant from a proud high priest into a frightened boy, staring around in disbelief at what had been his world, unable even to cry. 

"Seto," came the firm, deep voice behind him. 

His back straightened. He sprung to his feet, angry to have been observed in his moment of weakness, and by this man, _this man_. 

"It is not over, Seto," said the king, walking forward from the shadows. His violet cloak flared behind him, and despite the dried blood on his face and dust on his hands, he was regal still. He seemed ethereal, more then human. For a moment Seto wondered how he could ever have aspired to place himself higher then this son of heaven, and he despaired. 

_Don't be stupid. Looks or no, this king is no holier then a hall-rat. Stand up strait, High Priest. No one is permitted to make you feel inferior. _

"It shall be rebuilt, Seto," said the Pharaoh. "You still have enough followers to do that. Your temple will live on." His fierce eyes were full of meaning in that last sentence. 

Seto's head was high, and face was grim. "My Pharaoh, it is expected you will execute me for treason. The gods sent me a messenger, and they said I should receive no punishment for rising against an unfit king to save my land. My soul is prepared for the afterlife."

If the priest's face was grave, the face of the king was graver. All his expressions had a strange intensity to them, and his eyes were such as few could withstand. "High Priest of Egypt," said the Pharaoh, "you are proud unto the end. Even now you show no remorse, even though you know it shall cost you your life. Save your land, you say? Look around you."

'This is not of my making," snarled Seto. 

Crouched in the dead sun, a golden grave keeper smiled, and whispered into his rod. 

Filled with a sudden passion, Seto snapped. "Even if I had known, still I would defy you! No one is lord over me. No one is lord over me!"

"Seto…" the king's eyes narrowed.

_Haha, yes Seto Sutekh-Sokar. Aptly were you named for the Lord of Chaos. No one has the right to be superior to you, haha! Denounce your king, you fool!_

"If you had yielded your throne, none of this would have happened! Your kingdom is crumbling because of your pride!" yelled Seto. 

"Seto, listen to yourself!" the king's commanding voice rang out. "I was born unto my power, and am the true king of Egypt. But," his voice dropped an octive, "you are correct that it is my fault, in a way. And I need your help. We must undo the evil we unleashed on this land."

"You made the mess, you clean it up!"

"I did not make it alone. Seto Sutekh-Sokar, I need your aid. I could command it as is my birthright, but I shall not. Renounce your evil ways and render me assistance."

"Would it save me?" Seto's voice was low. 

There was a pregnant pause. Then the king replied, "I did not make the law, Seto. Such as you have done cannot be forgotten."

"I see," said Seto. He closed his eyes. A smug smile spread across his face. 

_You fool, tell him to stuff it! Nothing he can do now, your life is forfeit anyway, and he shall die along with everyone else!_ There was ringing laughter from the scorched sands as the angel of doom with the dead-violet eyes ran gleefully to the nearest ravaged town to observe his handiwork.

In a sudden movement Seto stooped and reached for his headdress, and the King sensed, for the first time, a presence, malevolent, a soul of pure chaos commanding many strings of influence…before he could figure it out it vanished. Seto stood, the headdress in his hands, looking at it. He made a move to put it on his head, to tell his king to rot in the torments of the afterlife and keep his bargains, when he found he was no longer holding his hard-won violet crown. It lay in the king's slim, nimble hands. 

"You are stripped of your title and your rights," the Pharaoh said, eyes and voice grim, "by order of the Pharaoh. As of this moment you are nothing more then a slave in my service. Aid me in my task, and you shall be permitted to duel me for everything you have lost this day." 

Seto's heart was full of pain, and his eyes were full of hatred. He opened his mouth in a snarl. "What right have you to do this?! You did not give me my position, you cannot-"

"I have the power to do what I wish in my own kingdom, you know that. My pronouncement stands."

Seto refused to believe it. "There are no scribes here to record your words, you are as alone in this moment as I. How-"

"That's where you are wrong!" yelled a voice. Jono stepped triumphantly from the shadows, holding his golden head at a jaunty angle, followed by a severe-looking Tèana. She put the finishing flourishes on a roll of papyrus, rolled it up, and handed it to the Pharaoh with a venomous look at Seto. She had learned letters for amusement from the palace scribes. 

"This paper is your slavery," said the king. "Renounce your traitorous ways and I will burn it. Otherwise, I swear by heaven I strip you of your very name."

Seto's fiery blue eyes were hidden behind his brown bangs. He hated his king. He hated his fate. He hated everything. He could not believe this was happening to him…everything had been so right, so right…

He would die rather then live with this humiliation…

"I will aid you, my king…" he said, the hatred and reluctance almost tangible in his tortured voice. Hate filled those blue eyes. "I shall reclaim my title of the best duelist in the universe, you cannot keep me down forever…"

"Never would I so intend," said the Pharaoh. He placed the violet headdress beneath his arm. "Now go an re-build your temple. You are commanded to continue in your role as High Priest of the Shadow Magics." The king turned with a flare of his cape. His deep commanding voice came back over his shoulder to Seto's ears. "I don't want to see you again. Stay away until I send for you."

And he walked away, leaving the bareheaded seventeen year old standing alone, defiant and determined in the ruins of what had been his grandeur.  

 Tèana and Jono shadowed their king. "So…what now?" asked Jono. "Gonna burn that paper?"

"My word is my bond," said the Pharaoh. "He is free and he knows it. I think," the king's intense violet eyes were cast skyward, looking up towards the blue heavens and the sun, "Seto understands me better then even you do. If I did not destroy that scroll, he would go mad. That I cannot risk. We need him still." 

"For what?" asked Tèana, disturbed at the tone in her king's voice.

The king looked ahead. His eyes were hidden by his golden bangs and he was quiet for a long time. Eventually Tèana and Jono realized he was not going to answer.


	15. White Fox in a Black Den

M-Sama's Note: Happy Birthday Cassandra Cassidy!!!

Chapter 15: White Fox in a Black Den

Sarah, Alex, and the professor had finished the third wall of this place. It took some searching to find where the tale picked up again at the far end of the room. In their searching they found one false door, an alcove covered in writing and sprinkled by pictures of the thief, the White Fox. 

After the descent of the gods, the magic of the shadow spells was released, and with it, the spell that had kept the thief a slave was now lifted. He had been on an errand in the catacombs beneath the High Priest's temple when it occurred. A tile fell from the ceiling onto his head. The pain cleared his mind, and he woke up truly for the first time in two years. He could feel, he could question. He didn't know what was going on but there was no way he was going to wait and be put back under that spell again. Deeper he went into the darkness.

The thief's mind was in turmoil as he sought to reclaim his own existence. With each step he remembered more; his mother, the king, that High Priest and what he had said and done…

The thief's unholy umber eyes were screwed shut in concentration. He saw red. Anger filled him, anger at everything, everyone. He would pay them back. Pay them all back, ten fold. The treasures…it all came down to the seven treasures. He wanted that power, the power to punish all who had punished him…the world…he should get the power and rule the world…make the world suffer…

One hand running along the wall, guiding him, he staggered like a drunken man, unheeding of where he was walking, not caring, his mind wandering, filling…

_"Make the world suffer…destroy them all…destroy this cruel world…"_

The thief was in a daze. He couldn't feel the wall, he couldn't feel anything…He was suspended in nothing, a mind separated, he could hear a voice speaking in time to his own thoughts, a duet…

_"You have nothing to fear, my brother…" _A sun-blond boy, undead violet eyes… "_You and I are of one kind, we have the same goals…we can help each other…"_

One…kind?

_"Both children of magic, scions of the shadow, you and I, my brother…"_

Suspicion. Who are you?

_"My name doesn't matter, and neither does yours…"_

_I remember seeing this…long ago…two souls speaking, the dread golden angel calling the other to the shadow plane, speaking…_

_The crouched figure in the sand…dark shadow, dead gold, dead amethyst eyes devoid of luster, filled with cruelty and hatred and anger at everything…_

_"My brother…" the heartless angel whispered, reaching out his "hand" in companionship to the white fox-demon…_

_I could see…the tendrils of that angel's power, emanating and inundating the shadow lands…he was trying to seize and fuse with the demon soul, it had worked with others, but not with this one…_

_No, he stroked the fox with his influence, offering and consoling, but the thief was immune, his soul had the same power and could not be commanded…_

_"Listen to me brother," murmured the dead angel, "the world is cruel, twisted. We both wish to see an end to all injustice, all evil, but there can be no stop, as long as the world exists…" _

But it could be persuaded._ "Destroy…I do not want them destroyed…but I will end this world's insanity-"_

_"You will end this world's insanity," _echoed the dead angel.

_"-When I rule this world. I will have revenge, and justice will be supreme."_

_"Supreme…yes, yes…"_

The demon-thief gave that unholy cadaver a glare from those searing umber eyes. _"I will help you…I want those items…the Treasures of One Thousand Years…"_

_"You shall have them," _said the dead angel. And running across the desert, never tiring, letting the waves of darkness bear and guide him, he laughed. 

_"Surrender yourself to the darkness, brother…surrender yourself to the blood within you, to your destiny, you know how to do it…come to me…"_

And the white fox closed his umber eyes, letting his soul follow the powerful call…he did not trust this "brother" no he did not. But he simply couldn't think of anything else to do…together they would get those items, all of them. And he would take down this strange golden creature and claim his revenge.

Gathering his body about him, he flew through the sky of darkness, the sky of hatred, the sky of his own revenge…and oh, how sweet it was…


	16. Blood Duty

M-Sama: New chappie, new chappie, aren't you happy there's a neeeew chaaapie….yeah, sorry about that. I wish I had more time to write…Well, no rambles, on with it all…sure hope I've still got an audience…

Chapter 15: Blood Duty

"Each of the seven items has it's own guardian," the pharaoh explained, leading his two friends into the depths of the pyramid. His deep voice reverberated off the stone- walls in the deep dark, drowning out the shriek of the monsters outside. Jono had claw marks on his arm, a token from the scuffle with some of the beasts. He'd been lucky…they'd lost the three servants who'd accompanied them, the poor brave souls. Tèana knew now was not the time to mourn them, but couldn't stop the few tears from falling on her linen wrap. 

"When Narmer sealed the magic for the first time," said the Pharaoh, "Seven of his counselors, the ones he trusted most in all the world, placed themselves in various temples around the kingdom of Egypt. They sealed themselves into special tombs which had been prepared for them, and died."

Jono's warm brown eyes widened. "Whatcha sayin'? They killed themselves?"

The king nodded. He continued staring straight ahead. "They all died. In different manners and at different times, depending on which treasure, but the overall concept is correct." He paused. "They died so that their souls might guard that item forever, inhabit it and prevent all evil things from touching it."

He continued. "As the thousands of years went by, some of the spirits got lost. Not all of them made it into this era."

Jono cocked his head. "Man, how does a spirit get lost?"

"I am sure I do not know," said the deep voice of the king. "All I know is what is written."

"So, what happens to an item if the spirit walks?" asked Jono. 

"It remains vacant. A new keeper is found in the physical world." The king placed his hand on the golden puzzle around his neck. "This treasure was entrusted to the royal family when its spirit disappeared. It has been in the care of every king since Mentuhotep."

"Any news on the others?" asked Jono. 

"We will find out." The king stopped, holding up the torch. They were in front of large door. The king held up his millennium puzzle. It glowed with an eerie light. The door hummed in response, the Eye of the Thousand Years illuminating on its surface. The door opened on a huge circular room, covered in ancient Hieroglyphs. 

"Doc, I don't get it," complained Alex. "What is that king working towards?"

Sarah was too tired to do more then stare numbly at her two companions. 

"_Mon garcon_, if I knew I would not be troubling to read all this," replied the professor a bit testily. "I suppose we can skim some…"

The texts went on to describe the spell the king worked in the room to summon the spirit guardians. 

"How could he do magic when all the monsters were free and stuff?" asked Alex.

"He was a scion, I suppose. It says he used "connection" to the dark world-"

"Connection?" Sarah started out of her stupor. Hieroglyphs were her particular interest. She peered at the symbol. "Looks kind of like the symbol for 'flow,' doesn't it? As in river?" She mused. "Flowing with the river of darkness…"

"Looks like a boat to me," said Alex, who was no expert on symbols. 

The professor had moved on. "Here, _estudiants_. Look at this panel here…"

The panel showed the King, arms spread, his two friends in the background. Before him were six figures, people in a strange kind of clerical garb. They were each shown with a Thousand Year Treasure hovering between their hands.

The professor rubbed his brown sideburns and gave a satisfied smile. "Aha, a list of the guardians." He read it off.  "Shadah of the Ankh, who beheld all within a man's heart. Seito of the Rod, a warrior who sealed the forces of evil. Madaho of the Ring, a mighty magician and seeker. Aknadean of the Eye, who could see and lure a man's soul right from his body. Karimu of the Scales, who judged and weighed a man's heart. Isis…eh, this is odd."

"Isis was the goddess of magic, hearth, a whole bunch of other stuff like that!" exclaimed Alex. "What's she doing here?"

"Must be a different Isis," said Sarah. "See? The way her name is written; it is Isis, but that little circle on top…I don't think this is the goddess, I think this is like a representitive of the goddess, or something. It says…" she peered closer and read off, slowly. " 'A wise mistress of knowing and foreknowing…'" 

"_Tre bein_, Sarah," remarked the professor. "You would be wise to listen to mademoiselle, Alex. She is much keener then you, or, perhaps, has just read more." He grinned.

Alex grumbled something and shuffled his foot in the dust. "So, did all these guys come when the king called them?"

The professor studied the wall. "No…Four of them did. Isis, Shadah, Karimu, Aknadean appeared, renewing their pledge to always serve the Pharaoh for the good of the Two Lands. The king inquired where the other two were, Madaho and Seito. Shadah stepped forward to answer. 'Eighteen times has the Nile raised and lowered its banks and the peasants plowed the earth, yet our comrade Seito remains missing.'

"Now Isis is speaking: 'He lives still, but he no swims with us through the dark rivers that are his place. Seito was ambitious, and took to dreaming of light and power again. He swam from us and were he is we know not.'"

Alex squinted at the picture of Seito the lost swimmer, his brown eyes straining in the dim light. "You know, it's sorta hard to tell cause he's wearing that funky hat, but this dude looks a lot like _him_!" He pointed at the life-size portrait of Seto on the opposite wall. 

"_Bravo_ Alex," said Sarah in a near-perfect imitation of the professor. Then she considered. "Maybe Seto _is_ the lost Guardian spirit who got himself reincarnated…would explain why he has all that magic power without being a scion, wouldn't it?" 

"_Estuduiants,_ you amaze me," said the professor, looking away from the wall for a second to smile at his protégés. Then back to the panel.

"Madaho of the Ring," said the keeper of the Eye, stepping forward beside his two kindred spirits, "will not come. His item is empty pharaoh. He forsook it to become a dueling monster."

This was news to the king! "Truthfully? Which monster?"

"He was impatient. He wanted a more active role as pharaonic protector and was not content to stand idle until called upon. He was present at your coronation. The Black Magician."

"Whoa…" said Jono, who had seen that monster in action. 

Tèana moved a step closer to her king and asked a tentative question. "Your Majesty? Were…were all these spirits-" she gestured at the glowing apparitions, "where they human once?"

"We were indeed, young lady," said the keeper of the Ankh, making Tèana jump. "But no more. We gave up our human lives for a greater destiny."

In that moment, Tèana thought she saw a deep scar on Shadah's head, almost completely hidden by his robe's hood. It was hard to tell but it seemed to be an upside-down ankh…there was dried blood in its deep grooves…the girl shuddered and looked away, feeling a bit ill. 

Shadah's hand went to the hem of his hood. He said nothing. 

The Pharaoh, who had been standing with his arms crossed and head down for a few minutes, opened his eyes. Instantly all eyes were on him. It was eerie the way he could command attention so easily without saying a word. His voice was quiet and calm, but every word was as strong and coolly hard as if it had been carved from marble. 

"Spirits, sworn to protect the millennium items, I called you here to help me. The land of Egypt is in great peril. A vision of my father came to me with instructions about a ritual that will seal away the magic and restore peace to my land. This you know, because you saw it. I entreat you each your assistance." He closed those powerful violet eyes, and placed one golden-clad hand over his heart. "Please help me." 

The spirits were silent for a second. Then, as one, they knelt onto their glowing knees, a constellation of distant stars in the fathomless deeps of the earth. As one, they chanted: "We shall ever serve the king of Egypt, in this life and the next. We shall ever aid him, for that is our duty. When the day is in danger, and the dark river threatens to flood the entire world, he shall call us. We shall come. We shall be ready. For this truth we die." As one they stood. The king watched them for a long moment. 

"Very well," he said. "And so it begins."

"Pharaoh and master," said Isis of the Necklace, her clear voice low with meaning. "This I see. It shall be doom for you."

"What will be will be," said the king. His eyes betrayed no emotion. He raised his voice. "Begin!"

The spirits lowered their heads. There was a great rushing sound as space and time bent around them, changing, moving through reality, hushing to their final destination. 

"What of the two lost ones?" someone asked, it was impossible to tell whom in this whirling storm-without-a-storm.  

"They will be there," answered a deep voice. "The call is too strong. They will come." 

Silence. 


	17. Thunder in the Air, Gods in the Sky

M-Sama's Note: Hey everyone! Long one this time. I hope it comes anywhere close to being worth the wait. You have been so great, all you reviewers. Thank you. 

Chapter 16: Thunder in the Air, Gods in the Sky

With the aid of the spirit guardians, it took little time to travel to the shrines and collect the items. That is, the four items whose locations were known. The eye, the tauk (necklace), the scales, the ring, and the ankh were all where they were supposed to be: lying on their respective alters, surrounded by spells of power to protect them from the unworthy.  The ring and the rod, however, where missing. 

The king ran his hand over the impression where the rod once lay, fingering the broken spell-inscriptions. This was bad. Now he would have to trust his father's word: all the items would be there for the final rites. 

The wall behind the alter was engraved with a portrait of the spirit that had guarded this place. The king looked at it for a long time. _Seito…I know longer have any doubts. You are the lord of chaos, my most dangerous rival, the only one who can duel me to a standstill and understands me better then anyone else. This is why we have fought like brothers in the depths of a vengeful feud. I know you by your name…Seto Sutekh-Sokar. _ His cape flew behind him as he exited the temple. 

His friends and the guardians were awaiting him outside. The spirits looked less unearthly under the full light of the Egyptian sun, if a bit translucent. 

"We shall journey to the tomb of Narmer!" said the King in that voice that was itself a command. 

"You sure about dat? We only got five'a the treasures."

"Yes." The king's voice was low. "We must now or we never will. Every time we move along the shadow-path the hunting gods get closer. You can hear them now, if you listen. We will only be able to manage one more jump before they catch us."

"Huh?!"

"Is it so impossible? Keep in mind, all concept you might have had about space is or time is irrelevant now, and will be until we seal the magics up again." 

"My king, we must leave now or we shall not have time for the rite."

"Then we have no time to search for the two missing items. We must trust to fate." 

"We go!" and a whirling of dark winds. 

The tomb of Narmer. There lay his funerary bed; it's sides naked of any inscriptions. All about where the stones, monster stones, broken and empty as the monsters screeched through the corridors.

Outside stood the king, his spiritual protectors, his friends. 

It was a monstrous pyramid, the original birthplace of the Thousand Year treasures. A small shrine at the top was the place the tablets exited from when summoned to the newly built temples and dueling arenas. A kind of chimney. Monsters were all around, shrieking in pain and anger at their lost homes, but they could not approach the group. Every time they tried, the power of the spirits in the sun drove them back. Despite this, Jono and Tèana stuck close to their friend, jumping each time one of the beasts came close. 

One monster stood by the downward entrance. It did not shriek. It stood, arms crossed, holding it's violet staff and regarding the party with knowing blue eyes. 

The king took a step forward. "For years I have known you as Dark Magician, the most faithful and dearest of all duel creatures," he said. "But you come here today with a different purpose."

"Well met, Madaho of the Ring," said the spirits in chorus. The magician nodded thoughtfully, then fixed his eyes on something in the distance. 

"Madaho," said the King, "you sense your old treasure."

The magician shook his head.

"What then?"

  Shadah of the Ankh spoke up. "Something dark and evil looms. We have no time."

"Let's go then," said the King. 

Downwards through the sealed door which opened to the king. Downward through endless winding stairways. Downwards through sealed stone doors broken and past the fleeing monsters. To the place where the sarcophagus sat, in the middle of a circular dais, the stone face staring placidly up, a crack running down the middle. Empty indentations, like those in a child's wooden block toy. Shapes that could not be mistaken. 

Upon entering the room the spirit guardians dispersed. As though blown by an irresistible wind, they all moved to hover in the air over their respective indentations, like ghostly markers, their feet vanishing with the force of their pull.

The king approached slowly. In his hands he held out the bag with the treasures in it. The puzzle around his neck was vibrating, producing a humming sound. Something was coming, it would happen soon…

He closed his eyes and he could see it. The entire world spread itself before his gaze. He felt the fabric of reality unraveling at horrifying speed, faster and faster. By nightfall there would be nothing left to save. Thousands of people, his people, were dead already, or had been fallen into the shadowy darkness. There was no more time…

The giants among monsters sensed him. The vengeful gods were coming already, burning and destroying. 

Now.

He took the last step onto the dais. 

There was a howling shriek, dark winds whipping through the room with enough force to rip skin from bone. Tèana screamed. Jono moved to shield her, clenching his teeth. Together they huddled against the wall, bracing themselves. The king stood like a sentinel, completely motionless, his eyes shut, his cape whipping his shoulders like an outraged violet ghost set on emancipation. 

The roar got louder. Down from on high came the white demon-fox, his cotton robes flaring out like wings, going straight through the spirits to land on the coffin, grinning his fanged grin. Never had those unholy eyes burned brighter then now, never had that mane of snowy white looked more ethereal. No one who watched him now could have any doubts that here was a creature not of this world, his wind devil who grinned and laughed with his dark eyes flashing. 

The king's burning violet eyes opened. He was not in the least surprised to see his fellow scion. He knew this person would come. He could _feel_ the Thousand Year Ring hidden beneath that robe. He knew here was the thief to end all thieves-

"And a stealer of souls." The smug white fox completed his thought. They looked at each other. They were on the same plane. Both knew what was coming. Both knew all about the other. Both felt the power here, at the nexus of all dark magic. 

Why are you come, asked the very air. 

_I come for the treasures._

_And I am come as a savior._

_A savior? What would you save?_ Amusement. _Give me the treasures._

_No._

_Then your companions shall pay the price. _

Again the winds ripped through the air, this time straight at Jono and Tèana, black-laced gusts with cutting power to kill.

The king's eyes widened. He moved with unnatural speed, placing himself between his friends and the thief. He caught the full blast of the winds on his back, shredding his cape. Blood dripped on the floor, and the king supported himself against the wall, over his horrified, dumb-struck friends.

_They are nothing but normal humans. Cruel and simple._

_They are everything to me. _He stood up straight. He turned to face the white one. 

"Leave," he commanded. 

"Hand over the treasures and I will be happy to."

"You want these," he said, holding out the resonating bag. 

The naked hunger in the thief's face was horrifying. "Give them here!"

"Tèana! Jono!" cried the king. "Get out of here!"

They were too shocked to move. 

"Now!"

Jono grabbed Tèana's hand. They scuttled along the wall, headed for the entrance.

"I don't think so," came a voice. From the shadows stepped a figure, smirking beneath his hood, stands of wasted gold spilling over his burnt face. "Pharaoh," he said, "it will end here and now. Everything in this sick world will finally end. Nothing will ever be the same again!" He reared back his head in a long crowing laugh.

"You…" the king's tone was cold, and hard. The golden one who whispered, the cadaverous angel, spinning webs of deceit with his power…

"Indeed, I," he said with another smirk, throwing his hood back and revealing the drained halo of gold and the dead luster of the purple eyes.

 He had the last item. All seven treasures were there. 

 Out in the desert the gods screamed, soaring swiftly though blindly towards their destination. 

_You are behind Seto's treachery. The battle that ripped the fabric of the world._

_Yes._ The dead-gold creature's smile was chilling. 

_I, he, all are puppets to you._

_Yes!_

 In that instant all was known. The three scions new each other. The Pharaoh saw the seraphic corpse's plot, his life from its childhood horrors to its twisted vision of the future. The white-haired demon there, his determination for more power, he would get it he would get it…his life, his past, his mother…in this one moment forever, standing on the face of the god-king, they each saw and felt each other through the sheer strength of the power that connected them. Each saw though his eyes and the others. 

They stood. The power in the air around them was tangible. It crackled the air like lightning. The crack in the stone Narmer's face was growing. The three heralds stood on the threshold, calling forth the powers of chaos, the treasures resonating…

They are not yet all there, and nothing was happening…no one could move, minds were blown away, nothing but the moment…

The last call...

From a rip in the world he came. By way of the rushing gate he came. He came, it does not matter how. The young high priest, the prodigy who should never have been but was materialized. His magic here was strong, and he felt the call and knew there was no more time. He kicked Jono in the ribs and yelled at him to get out, Jono got to his feet, Tèana didn't want to go, she had tears in her eyes but was forced to run by the Pharaoh's own unspoken word. 

Seto, Seito, was there. All was ready. The time was now.

The treasures burst from their bag. The core of the magic was visible to those who stood on the stone body. Each treasure flew straight to it's own indentation, the spirtual pillars who hovered motionless above disappearing. A blinding light covered the whole of the stone face. A power great enough to destroy the world was welling, would swell and consume, a rising tide…

_No!_

Monsters driven back. The tide shifting, upwards around to the stone flue that spewed out destruction, the treasures from their holds and upwards…

_Never!_

The white demon seized his ring. It was tearing him to pieces but he would not let it go, had had it so shortly, the power, his dream, his life…

The golden one too. His rod was leaving him. It was going to seal the magics instead of free them he would not let that happen, it's power, he needed it's power or, or…

Carried off their feet up through the air. The royal king watched them go in dismay, seized his puzzle which hovered near and followed them…they meant to undo everything, he would not let them…

The very stones resounded, glowed, pulsed with dark energy. The entire tomb was alight, and the king held up his puzzle in the midst of the chaos…

The earth quaked, lightning struck, thunder in the heavens and the air and the soul…

Quiet.

Jono and Tèana approaching the rubble. The pyramid is all-but gone. Everywhere is silence. 

They fear the broken passage, the sighing depths. They fear the blackness and the silence worse then roars. 

Not a single shadow monster. Not a single one left in the world. Black magic dispersed like black clouds. The Gods were gone, their wrath stemmed, nothing but the winds spoke of them now. Snatched back to the worlds from which they came.  

But they must know. They will never abandon him. Where is he? Oh where is he, by Ra's name let him be alright…

Sunlight came down through the broken slabs of stone. The stone king's face was perfect. The crack was gone. But they did not see. Their eyes were on the fallen violet figure, still regal in it's ruin…

The king! No! They rushed forward with exclamations of despair. 

He lay on his back, laid out on the god-king's very form like a fallen angel on the stone grave of his false lord. In his hands he held the golden pyramid. His face was stained as blood leaked from his nose, mouth, even his eyes. It was like something had burst inside him.

Tèana broke down into sobs. "The king, king…"

The soul-searing violet eyes opened just a touch. Both of his friends jerked their heads towards him. They rushed over and reached out…

"No," came his voice. It was a ghost of it's former self, but still had command. 

They began hollering questions, demands for explanations. He took a deep breath and smiled a little. 

Tears leaked from Jono's eyes as he told off his Pharaoh for being so dumb, how could he do this alone, didn't he trust them, what was he thinking…

The king smiled faintly. It was the most movingly real smile they had ever seen on his face. Tèana cried harder and made as though to throw her self down and weep with relief, he was all right, he was alive…

The king moved as though to say something. Then he stopped. His eyes got wider. He looked at the puzzle in his hands. 

Piece by piece, it was coming apart. The pieces did not drop on his chest; they fell to the stone right through him…

He didn't understand, and he couldn't waste time trying. He could only fix his friends with his violet eyes, looking at their beloved faces to the last…

Time for one goodbye and that was all. "My friends…I will…goodbye…blessings on you forever…" and it was no longer possible to speak. The puzzle lay in pieces on his insubstantial chest. He gave a little convulsion, a sigh, and evaporated into a glow, which shrank soaked into the pieces. The pieces pulsed once, like a heartbeat, and the luster faded. 

    On the ground two more lights flared. Tèana and Jono, stricken and confused to the point of dumbness, stared wildly about and noticed for the first time the stricken forms on the ground around the sarcophagus. The white fox and the dead-gold angel lay where they had fallen. Both were bleeding at the face. Both were conscious for one last second. _I'll never let it go_, thought the thief, and his hands tightened around the ring even as they lost feeling and sank into it. The wasteland angel gave the world one last hateful stare through those dead violet eyes. _Next time_… And he too felt all knowledge give. His rod fell in a clatter on the ground, glowing and staring with its one eye, full of silent malice. 

Tèana looked around. Her eyes were huge and terrified. She did throw herself down on the unfeeling stone this time. "I…I will find you king!" she yelled into the ruin. "I will find you again!"

"Exactly!" cried Jono, tears streaming down his face in shining trails. "We'll wait forever, Pharaoh! We won't go to the afterlife until we can all go together!" 

"I'll look forever…" Tèana whispered as her tears fell on the scattered golden pieces. "I promise…"

Back in the treasure room, Sarah had pressed herself against the wall, crying her eyes out. "King…pharaoh…" she said in an ancient language she didn't know. "I will find you yet…I'll never give up…" she rambled between the sobs. 

Alex was clinging to a battle-pillar for support, staring at the portraits beneath his fingers and seeing them live, move, hurt, die… Tears fell on his dust hands from his reddened eyes. 

"Pharaoh…King of Games…"

And that was the beginning of it. 


	18. Epilogue

M-Sama's Final Word: This is it. The end of everything. All you who stuck it out to the end, thank you. It has been an experience I shall never forget. I don't know if I'm going to write many more fanfics after this. This was something I don't know if I can top. All you who gave your support and encouraging words, I thank you. If you've had half as much fun reading this as I have had writing it, my job is done.    

Epilogue

_So that was it. _

_Sleepwalker king, reaching out to the shadows before me, I see you. You seek the ones you lost. You seek the ones you must stop. You seek…_

_His hands reach through the air. His searing violet eyes are blind to me. _

_Why do you move now, Shadow King? What mean you to the world? You, chained in the unreality, crowned still by that lightning crown…_

_You still have things to do…a destiny…_

After the passing of the last Mentuhotep king, the country would have lapsed into another period of lawlessness had it not been for the rebellious High Priest, much changed since the Nexus at the pyramid. Lying on the ground amid the most powerful treasures in the world, he was the only one to be there that day and live. His ordeal left him with a weak heart (a short jog or a weak magic spell drained him utterly), and for once he wanted nothing more then to go back to his temple and re-build it. He could still work magic though, the last one who could, and eventually he took command of the anarchal nation, guiding it back towards reason and helping to re-build it's structure, now that the dueling stones were no more. He never smiled again.

 Tèana left the palace: it was too full of memories. She re-joined her family and danced with them from time-to-time, and though her dances were beautiful, they were always slow and sad. 

Jono helped Seto and did what he could for his nation, but a spark was gone from him. His warm brown eyes were deep now, smoldering with anger at fate. 

Both Jono and Tèana died before their thirtieth birthdays: she from a tropical malady, he in a battle to save a woman from thieves. Seto was the only long-lived one of that group—he ruled unhappily as pharaoh for some thirty years before he finally followed the others.

All of them knew, the place they wanted to be was the future.  

Champollion and his pupils left the strange dark library quickly. They could no longer stay. A force they didn't understand forced them out. Pale, red-eyed, half-dead from hunger and thirst and weariness they emerged from the darkness. The children had a wide-eyed silence, a grief-stricken shock that never faded for the rest of their lives. They grew up, and lived, but no matter how happy they got, the deep shadowy scar in their eyes was there. Alex returned to his family in America, took up archeology there and excavated Native American sites. Sarah returned to Paris, but found herself drawn to dancing schools rather then museums now, and quit academia for a modest career as a ballet dancer in small background roles. 

Jean-Jacques Champollion returned to his job as curator of the Louver Egyptology exhibit. If he meant to do anything with his unusual discovery though, it was not to be—he died six months later, of a disease he had contacted in the shadowy tombs and heat of his dreamland. He was thirty-three. 

_The time will come, won't it? You see it. Your eyes are blind but you see, you _feel_…I felt an ache in my heart. You still hope…_

_He turned his head towards me. His eyes burned. He blinked. _

_He saw me. He _saw _me. He saw me!_

_Only for a moment. He will forget. I was just another passing shadow, but that deluded, stubborn, fiery young spirit _did _see me. _

_Words cannot express my confusion. Would be mockery of my linguistic prowess to try.  _

**…** It had been a long time since I had seen one, but I have a feeling I would have remembered this one even if he had been an anonymous face a crowd of his kind. Not that there ever are crowds of sleepers, or sleepwalkers. No, in actuality they are rare, so it's always an event when I come across one during my wanderings…

This one…the one who clings to hope and fights on, no matter what the odds, waiting for his time, never surrendering…

A golden box with golden pieces hidden. Eventually they would be found. Eventually they would be assembled. He believed it. He believed it.

Now I am the one with the wound in my heart. Could I…the way I've been living, the way I've been protecting myself…

Am I wrong?

The world of shadows has no space, no time, no sense. It continues. 

Elsewhere, the time will come.

M-Sama: Until we meet again! This is M-sama, signing out. It's done!


End file.
